


Precipice

by Minque



Series: Closure [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Mystery, Romance, Slow Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:39:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minque/pseuds/Minque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When James was given guard duty over Shepard, he learnt never to meet your heroes. When Shepard was taken into custody, she didn't believe it was for her own safety until someone threw a grenade into her room.  Set between ME: Conviction and ME3.</p><p>For the Spring 2013 Mass Effect Big Bang. Artist for the three beautiful illustrations in the fic are done by <a href="http://hedgehawke.tumblr.com">toxichedgie</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> My amazingly talented and beautifully patient artist pairing was [toxichedgie](http://hedgehawke.tumblr.com). Without her sketches and enthusiasm, this story might never have been finished. Also a huge thank you to [dismalniece](http://dismalniece.tumblr.com), who didn't mind that this story was twice as long as I told her it would be, and graciously edited everything with speed and insight. You ladies are awesome! 

Arcturus Station was cushier than James had imagined. Emerald-hued leaves rustled in the artificial breeze and the scent of flowers teased his senses. Couches littered the station and looked so comfy he contemplated stopping his daily jog to take a nap on one. Looking up at the clouds drifting across the blue expanse of the artificial sky, he could almost believe he was back on Earth. There were no birds though; back in San Diego there were always pigeons. He’d always enjoyed running through a flock of feeding pigeons.

“Lieutenant.”

The word snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Shepard,” he replied, his voice wheezier than he’d like.

Shepard was running in the opposite direction to him but she turned on her heel and fell into the same easy-paced jog next to him.

As much as he wanted to pretend guarding her was just another assignment, he couldn’t. Fehl Prime was still a wound that festered under his guilt and helplessness. Maybe if Shepard was anything like the hero he’d imagined her to be, he could at least pretend to like her. Instead, when they’d first met, she’d asked if he was a krogan-human illegal experiment and then wordlessly dismissed him when he gave her a smartass reply. The memory still made his ears flush with indignation.

James watched her out of the corner of his eye as they jogged. She hadn’t broken a sweat yet, her breathing in time with her steps—three strides inhaling, three strides exhaling—and her posture was perfect. He probably looked as graceful as a volus next to her.

The only sounds between them were the rhythmic pounding of their feet and James’ raspy panting.

“Are you allowed to be out of your quarters, ma’am?” he asked when the silence finally became too uncomfortable for him.

“I’m with my guard. Or did you quit?”

Ah, so he was getting difficult-Shepard today. That was fine; James could give as good as he got.

“Not yet. I’m waiting for Anderson to be in a good mood so he’ll approve a transfer request.”

She looked at him then, one eyebrow slightly raised and lips pursed. He was used to getting that look. He wasn’t getting used to being around someone who had no sense of humour though.

“How long have you been running?” asked Shepard.

That wasn’t the reply he was expecting, but Shepard had a habit of abruptly changing the topic when she felt like it.

“Uh…” He checked his omnitool. “About forty minutes.”

Shepard quickened her pace, turning their lazy jog into a swift run.

“Keep up, Lieutenant. Wouldn’t want to get in trouble for letting me wander unattended, would you?”

An insult that would have made his _tio_ slap him upside the head left his mouth before his common sense could stop it, but Shepard either didn’t hear it or didn’t understand it. She was worse than his DI back at Camp Pendleton. They were at least sadistic to everyone, but Shepard… Shepard was a pain in the ass just to him.

She kept herself half a pace in front of him, forcing him to follow her wherever she wanted. They passed out of the prettily decorated section where guests and Alliance parliament were, into the cramped alleyways of the military base. Here, there was no artificial sky, no fake trees, no cushy places to sit and watch the bustle of the Systems Alliance’s central nervous system go by. Not a single space or surface was wasted.

He had to run behind her now to let others pass. They ran by the barracks, by the warehouses, all the way to the docks. Every time she slowed, he thought that perhaps she was giving him a break, but she’d only slowed to allow people to pass with goods before she sped up again. He realised after the fourth time that she was treating this like interval training, as if she’d decided he needed to work on his endurance. The knowledge almost made him turn on his heel and go back the way he came, but duty kept him following his charge.

At a normal walk, the distance would have taken them almost an hour. Shepard had pushed them to do it in fifteen minutes. His lungs burned, and every time he swallowed, it tasted like blood had welled up in his throat. The metallic tang made his stomach heave, and he stopped midstride, hands on his knees and head down. His thumping heart drowned out the noise of those around him. He closed his eyes against the dark spots slowly spreading across the concrete floor from his dripping sweat. He didn’t know if Shepard realised he’d stopped until he heard Shepard’s voice coaxing him to stand up straight and take deep breaths.

He opened his mouth to say he knew how to recover from a run, then shut it. He was too exhausted to fight.

“I’m tired. Walk with me back to our quarters,” she said, her own breathing heavy.

James felt like an idiot always having to walk Shepard to her door. Apart from it being Arcturus Station and perfectly safe, this was Commander Shepard: Butcher of Torfan, Saviour of the Citadel, Defeater of the Collectors. Admittedly, that last one wasn’t an official title, but the point was she could take care–

 _Oh_.

It dawned on him that she wasn’t tired, she just felt sorry for him. He didn’t know whether he was more surprised at her generosity or offended that she felt sorry for him.

He walked beside her, listing to one side with a hand pinching the cramp just under his ribs. He was satisfied to see that Shepard had finally broken a sweat, droplets clinging to the ends of her choppy red fringe and running in rivulets down her face and neck. She still had perfect posture though; ramrod straight, chin up, and daring anyone to hold eye contact for longer than a few seconds. No one did. Technically, she’d been stood down, but higher-ups still acknowledged her with a nod and subordinates stopped to stand to attention and salute her.

James got no attention whatsoever.

They walked in silence for the hour or so it took them to walk back to the cushy part of Arcturus. James was too tired and annoyed to even try starting a conversation with Shepard. She didn’t seem inclined to fill the silence either.

“Your endurance is dismal,” said Shepard once they finally reached Guest Housing.

“Wrong.” He frowned down at her. “You’re just a freak of nature.”

She gave him that half-deadpan, half-annoyed look again. “I didn’t give you permission to speak freely, Lieutenant.”

James snorted. “You don’t hold rank anymore.”

That made Shepard pause, and James did a mental victory dance. Rarely did he feel like he got the upper-hand when he spoke to Shepard. He grudgingly admitted to no one but himself that she was smarter than a lot of the marines he was used to.

“I see why Anderson gave you this babysitting assignment when you should be out there leading squads in the Traverse,” she said after a little hum of contemplation. “You’re incredibly rude.”

Hah! He could say the same back at her.

“I don’t know about that. Guarding _the_ Commander Shepard–”

“Oh, so I do have rank?” said Shepard as she hit the button to open the door to her quarters. “Get some rest, you look awful.”

The door slid closed behind her before James could retort. He kicked the door in frustration.

“Please do not damage Arcturus Station property, or you will be reported to Command and reprimanded,” came the artificial voice of a VI from somewhere up above.

With another litany of swearing, James turned and left. He wanted to go to the gym to vent his frustrations on a punching bag, but his legs felt like jelly and his cramp twinged when he moved a certain way. His own quarters were just across the hall from Shepard’s, but he wanted to be as far away from her as possible. Perhaps he’d go demolish a big plate of food and not care that he was stinking up the two metre radius around him.

He stormed out of the building, making a beeline for the cafeteria. Lights flickered on in buildings and the skinny lamps on the walkway brightened as the sky darkened into the night cycle. There was no sun setting into the horizon in a riot of colour though; just light blue fading into dark blue. He missed sunsets. Omega didn’t have sunsets. Fehl had sunsets, but the double moons always made him acutely aware that he wasn’t home.

“Lieutenant Vega.”

James groaned and turned, ready to snarl at whoever called out to him. Recognising the admiral, he quickly stood up straight, his cramp protesting, and snapped off a smart salute.

“At ease, soldier, this is a social call,” said Anderson with a friendly shake of his head. “I just want to get to the chow hall before the dinner rush.”

Usually, James would go back to slouching, but the only mark of informality in his body was the slight list to one side as he tried to placate his resurgent cramp. They fell into step together, heading for the large building in the distance with food advertising hanging off the sides.

“How are you finding your duties, Lieutenant?”

James gave Anderson a sideways look, wondering if he was being facetious or genuinely wanted to know how fun guard duty was.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” he asked, and Anderson nodded. “Commander Shepard’s a bitch.”

“Yes, she takes some getting used to,” said Anderson with a wry twist of his lips.

James sighed and rolled his eyes. “ _Ay dios mio_ , I don’t want to get used–”

The sound of a blast hit them at the same time as the force knocked them forward. Instinct made James roll into cover, tucking himself behind a pot plant. A quick glance across the walkway at Anderson showed the old soldier had done the same. Glass rained down on them and James covered his head with his arms. Shards skittered along his skin, leaving pink marks in their wake. He looked up, trying to find the source of the explosion and wondering what he was going to do if this was an attack and he didn’t have a gun.

Smoke and fire billowed from the second floor of guest housing.

Shepard.

A brief head check around the pot plant attracted no bullets; no shadowy soldiers fanned out, ready to start killing people right in the heart of Alliance territory. Anderson was already up and running, his pistol in hand, and James followed after him into the belly of the burning building.

People stumbled past him, the uninjured helping the injured out before running back in to help more. James caught up with Anderson at the bottom of the stairs.

“Find Shepard,” said Anderson, handing him a portable fire extinguisher. “I’ll organise the evacuation until emergency services arrive.”

James nodded, stripping his sweat-soaked shirt and tying it around his face before bounding up the stairs two at a time. He sprinted down the hallway, adrenaline making his tired body work hard. People limped for the stairs and he ducked around them, almost falling on the wet floor as he skidded around the corner to Shepard’s quarters. The door was blown clean off, chunks of metal embedded into James’ own door. The sprinklers tried their best to douse the flames that licked out from the open door, scorching the floor, ceiling, and walls.

“Shepard!”

No one replied.

He ran his hand through his hair and growled in frustration as he weighed up his options. There was no way Shepard could still be alive if she were in the room. His eyes roved across the ruined hallway, looking for a sign that Shepard had made it out the door.

Through the smoke, he saw a crumpled body further down the hallway. Hope shoved away his anxiety and he charged through the smoke, covering his face as he ran past the flames. Shepard lay twisted on the floor, still in jogging shorts and regulation tank, with her red hair fanned out in a pool of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>  by [toxichedgie](http://hedgehawke.tumblr.com)  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

Heat blasted her face. She turned her head to try and get away from it but her body wasn’t cooperating. Someone rolled her onto her front and a blaze of pain spread across her shoulder and shot down her arm. Whoever was moving her dragged her to her knees and the pain in her shoulder turned into an inferno. She cried out, head lolling forward as she squeezed her eyes shut, and the person moving her paused. Her breaths hissed through her clenched teeth as she braced herself to be thrown over the person’s shoulder. Instead, the hands lifted her so she’d be cradled against a broad chest.

The sound of sirens melded with the ringing in her ears. Inside her skull, it felt like a yahg was rampaging. She tried to collect her thoughts, but every time she caught snippets of memories, that yahg would barrel through and scatter them again.

The tink of metal on the uncarpeted floor. Sprinting from the room, barrier up. Sending a shockwave down either side of the hall to throw unsuspecting people out of harm’s way. A rush of air and heat and noise then nothing.

Her eyelids cracked open. Black water sprayed her face and clung to her lashes as James hurried–

Wait, James. When did James come back?

She tried to push him away, let him know she could walk.

He looked down at her then. The furrow between his brows smoothed and the corners of his eyes crinkled in relief. He’d never looked relieved to see her before. Behind the shirt tied over the lower half of his face, she could see his mouth moving. She frowned at him. There was a slight pause before he started to rub his face against his shoulder. She yanked the shirt down impatiently, but even without the fabric she still couldn’t hear anything.

“Suspected ruptured eardrums,” she croaked. “Put me down, Lieutenant.”

James rolled his eyes and Shepard could feel the frustrated rise and fall of his chest as he sighed. Even though she’d already told him about her hearing, he was still talking. It mustn’t have been in English since she couldn’t make out the shape of his words. He shook his head before lowering her legs to the floor.

She carefully put her weight on one leg and took one step before her other leg collapsed underneath her.

James’ grabbed her around the waist before she could fall on her face.

“Idiot,” said James, his lips close to her ear.

Shepard’s head snapped around and she glared at him, lips set in a hard line.

“I can hear you when you’re this close.”

The flickering emergency lighting bathed everything in an unnatural, dark yellow light, but Shepard could still see his ears turn a darker shade. He dropped his gaze from hers and motioned with his head for them to continue. She glared at him for a second longer before turning her concentration to the task of climbing down the stairs.

She’d be damned if she allowed herself to be carried out of the building, but she could settle for being helped out.

***

Shepard sat rigidly on the hard hospital bed. She was glowering at a large syringe that had been stuck into her shoulder just minutes ago. She tried to focus on what the doctor and Anderson were discussing, but her attention kept getting pulled back to the syringe. Shepard had always felt more trepidation sitting in a medbay than she had facing impossible odds in battle.

She didn’t notice the nurse until he touched her injured knee. She jerked away, her barrier flaring to life.

 _Relax_ , she told herself, and mumbled an apology to the nurse. She took a deep breath and let her barrier dissipate.

Almost twenty years later and Mindoir’s ghosts still haunted her. The doctors poking and prodding her; speaking to each other as if she wasn’t there; sticking her in the psych ward for longer than she cared to remember…

“Someone’s trying to kill you,” said Anderson, his words piercing through the storm clouds of her memories.

Her mouth twitched into a humourless smile. “What’s new?”

The nurse held Shepard’s leg carefully as he tended to her injured knee. A cocktail of anaesthetic, anti-inflammatory drugs and magic—Shepard never could understand medical technology—meant she’d be mobile, if tender, in a few days. At least the ringing in her ears had faded to a mildly annoying background noise. The automated arm suspended from the ceiling had fixed her ruptured eardrum in a matter of minutes. She supposed that was a testament to how frequent the injury was for soldiers.

“Casualties?” she asked, her voice subdued.

“Two. Four more in ICU and eighteen treated for minor injuries.”

She sighed, frustrated. “I told you to leave me on some deserted moon.”

“Don’t be unreasonable, Shepard. Whoever infiltrated Arcturus would likely find whatever backwater you got dropped off on and just bomb you from orbit.” Shepard disagreed but kept her mouth shut anyway. “We leave for Earth in an hour. We’re just waiting for a few specialists to pack their gear for their reassignment to the Normandy’s retrofit.”

She nodded, and Anderson started to say his farewell before she interrupted him.

“We should leave Lieutenant Vega here.”

Anderson looked at her like they’d had this conversation a thousand times already, even though Shepard had never brought up the idea before. “He’s a good soldier.”

“I don’t want good; I want the best. I _need_ the best. Whoever threw those grenades almost got me. If they’d thrown them onto the couch or the bed, I wouldn’t have heard them. I want Vakarian or Grunt or, hell, I’ll take Alenko, even with all our unfinished business.” The nurse finished strapping her knee into a brace and Shepard leaned forward in her seat, punctuating her words by stabbing the air with her finger. “I want people I trust. People who I know will come out alive.”

James chose that exact moment to walk into the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of him.

Anderson glanced at the Lieutenant, who stood to attention and saluted until the admiral nodded. James relaxed into parade rest and fixed his gaze at the wall across the room.

“Request denied, Shepard. Those people aren’t available. Trust… well, you’re just going to have to learn it,” said Anderson in with what she’d dubbed his ‘Admiral tone’. “One hour. Be ready.”

He turned and left. James saluted him again as he passed by. When the door slid closed, James’ posture dissolved into an impertinent slouch.

“You’re hearing’s back. I was kind of hoping you’d still be deaf,” said James.

Her eyebrow twitched up in annoyance before she smoothed her expression into distant neutrality. She would have crossed her arms over her chest if her shoulder wasn’t strapped up.

“Why are you here?”

“Taking you to the ship.”

“I can make it alone, thanks.”

James didn’t look convinced. “Go on, then.”

Shepard pushed herself off the bed with her uninjured arm. All of her weight was on her good leg and James’s gaze flickered to her strapped knee before going back up to her face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back to put his weight on his back foot, nodding his chin in invitation for her to start walking. She took an experimental step and hissed through her clenched teeth, her face screwing up at the sharp pain.

“Congratulations. Ten centimetres,” said James with a slow clap. “You’ll get to the Normandy tomorrow.”

Her tortured scowl turned angry.

“I thought your assignment was to guard me, not piss me off.” She spat every word from her mouth like it was something bitter. “Silence is golden, Lieutenant, and I could use some goddamn gold in my life.”

James took a deep breath and opened his mouth. Shepard’s eyes narrowed. He coughed awkwardly and shut his mouth again. Wordlessly, he brought the wheelchair to her and waited for her to lower herself into it.

Shepard eyed the chair, hating the thought of being wheeled out of the hospital and onto her own ship. Well, onto what used to be her ship. The reminder of all that had been taken away from her didn’t help her mood.

“I’ll use the crutches,” she said, taking the few agonising steps to the crutches leaning against the wall.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as stubborn as you.” This time there was no insolence in his voice; it sounded more like admiration.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. One side of her mouth hitched up into a sardonic smile. “No one ever achieved anything without some pain.”

***

The assassin suppressed a laugh at how easy the Alliance was making it for him to get close to the commander. Then again, the Alliance had harboured the assassin for years, unaware of their true allegiance.

No one who had been with Shepard when the Normandy was painted in Cerberus colours was still serving on the ship. The assassin walked with a small group of the new crew. They’d all been enjoying their last properly-cooked meal before they boarded the Normandy and had to live on reconstituted slop until Earth.

 “I’ll feel safer when we actually get to Earth,” said the assassin as they reached Normandy’s docking bay. “Being on the Normandy is great, but when I got this assignment, I wasn’t told Shepard would be on board.”

The others nodded gloomily, minds still obviously on the blast that almost killed Shepard. They stopped before the airlock, a drone materialising in front of them. Each person presented their palm and their omnitools flared to life as the drone checked their palm prints as well as their security passes. The assassin held out his hand, the drone taking no longer to approve him than it had anyone else.

Trying to kill Shepard in her room had almost worked. Perhaps it was stupid, but the assassin didn’t think she’d be able to avoid a belt of already-activated grenades going off in her tiny room. The assassin underestimated just how quickly Shepard could react.

The little group shuffled into the decontamination chamber between the outer and inner doors. When the inner doors slid open, the assassin smiled as he took his first step onto the Normandy.

Next time, he would not be so careless.


	3. Chapter 3

The background hum of the drive core was inescapable on Engineering Deck. Usually it sat comfortably in the backdrop of James’s mind, like the street noise of San Diego, but tonight it kept nudging him awake. James lay in his cot, looking up at the ceiling without seeing it. When Anderson told him he’d be bunking in Starboard Cargo, he’d tried to argue out of being around Shepard all day and night. It wasn’t sharing quarters that bothered him; it was sharing quarters with someone so hostile. He wasn’t even sure why she disliked him. The old pilot, Joker, was a bigger smartass than James, but Shepard’s mood brightened during the short visits Anderson allowed them.

The squeaking of springs emanated from Shepard’s cell. Well, ‘cell’ was a loose definition of the three-by-four metre cargo container at the back of the room. It fit a cot, a sink and enough floor space for her to exercise. No toilet—which was a pain in the ass whenever she needed to go to the head, since he had to let her out and escort her up a level.

He turned his head to watch her through the bars on one end of the container. She rolled onto her bad shoulder and let out a little whimper before tossing back onto her good side. The night light in her cell threw her angular features into sharp relief. Her eyebrows met in a deep crease above her nose.

Neither of them had brought it up, but she’d had nightmares before. She’d toss and turn in her sleep until her blanket fell off the cot and she’d have to curl up against the chill of the air. Eventually, she’d settle back into a deep sleep, but that frown never disappeared completely. Shepard never looked like she had peaceful sleep.

This time, she jerked awake with a gasp. In the quiet room, her heavy breathing was loud enough that if he closed his eyes, he could imagine she was right next to him. The bed creaked again as she swung her legs off the bed. She hunched over, one elbow resting on her good knee, her head in her hand. If she were any other woman, James would bet she was crying, but crying seemed anti-Shepard.

He hadn’t dared move a muscle since she woke. He didn’t want Shepard to take her frustrations out on him, and he wanted to watch her when she didn’t have her guard up.

Even though she was obviously still in pain, she stood in one fluid movement. The illusion that Shepard was fine dissolved as she limped to the little sink at the back of her cell. From this angle, and by the weak illumination of the light above her, he could see her haunted face in the mirror. Her lips curled into a snarl and her hand balled into a fist, the blue corona of biotics swirling across her skin. For a second, James thought she might punch the mirror, until his eyes met hers in the reflection.

Just as quickly as her anger had flared, it disappeared.

“You’re awake,” she said, her expression again unreadable.

“You’re a noisy sleeper.”

“So are you.” She hobbled back to her cot and eased herself down onto it, a strangled gasp escaping as she lay flat again. “Who’s April?”

The name was like a punch to the gut. He could still remember the weight of the little girl sitting on his shoulders as she played lookout, pretending she was a real private of the Alliance. Her gap-toothed grin; her long, blonde hair curling in the breeze; her high-pitched voice as she spoke through Captain Toni’s omnitool from the Collector ship. She was as close as he ever got to having a _hermanita_ —a baby sister. Her unshakable faith that he would save all the colonists, and his subsequent failure, was like a belly full of smouldering coals that slowly burned and shrivelled his heart.

“No one,” he said and turned his back to her.

The hum of the drive core filled the silence in the room again. He thought Shepard had decided to let the topic drop, but that would have been too charitable of her.

“Did she die?”

James didn’t answer.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She sounded more curious than malicious, but James would have given anything to be able to shoot her. “How?”

He closed his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep, but Shepard was still talking.

“…Battle, perhaps, if she was Alliance. Girlfriend or possibly a sister. Disease is less common, but still an option–”

“Collectors.” James rolled over, teeth clenched and body tense. “Now shut the fuck up.”

She didn’t. “I know what that’s like.”

“You know what it’s like to have an eight-year-old kid taken by the Collectors?” His tone dripped with bitter scorn.

“I know what it’s like to have people you love taken away from you while you can only watch helplessly from a distance.” She lifted her head just enough to pierce him with a gaze that seemed to rip past his anger to grab at what was really hurting him. “That is what happened, isn’t it?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He hated her even more in this moment than when he’d found out he’d sacrificed the colonists of Fehl for nothing.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said, his voice a low growl as he turned his back on her again. “You don’t have access to files.”

Shepard laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t need files to read you, soldier.”

The hum of the drive core took over the room again and James soon fell into a restless sleep, haunted by the faces of the colonists he left to die.

***

The morning after their midnight chat saw a frosty James. Shepard was indifferent, as usual. He escorted her to the head, hitting every button on the way with excessive force. He glowered at the wall as he waited in the corridor. He didn’t need this crap in his life.

“Did Shepard piss in your cereal this morning, Vega?” asked Joker as he was escorted by his own guard to the men’s bathroom.

James retorted with an insult about Joker’s mother. The pilot laughed and continued on his way.

Cerberus must have been _loco_ to install a VI that listened to only one person. Then again, it was Cerberus. Bad guys always did crazy things.

Shepard limped out of the bathroom, her wet hair dripping onto the shoulders of her BDUs. She tilted her head and studied him. He clenched his jaw and tried to mimic the way Shepard dismissed him: a bored slide of his gaze away from her to focus on something more interesting—like a bare wall.

He heard the small huff of laughter as she breezed by him and said, “Chow time.”

James wanted to reassert his authority by hauling her back to her cell, but the rumble in his stomach vetoed the idea.

Shepard went straight to the mess hall cupboard and stuck her head into it.

“Someone’s been rifling through my rations again,” she said “I think the only thing saving them are the messages I wrote on every packet. What do these ones say? I’ve forgotten what I wrote.” She pulled out two packages and read them. “The curry says ‘I will skin you’ and the brownies say ‘I will use your balls as a pendant.’ Fun.”

Shepard’s sudden want for conversation was jarring. Before last night’s heart-to-heart, Shepard had kept conversation between them to the bare minimum. Anyone else, and James would have laughed at the messages on the packages. Since it was Shepard, he chose to ignore it and served himself from the food laid out for the crew.

As Shepard heated her food, she continued to chatter like they were old friends, seemingly uncaring that he barely looked at her, let alone responded. The constant chatter was putting him on edge, and a muscle in his cheek started to twitch from clenching his jaw so tightly.

“Done,” she said, and when he looked at her she had a wide grin on her face.

Oh, she knew she was annoying him just as much by talking as she had by not talking—he could tell by the spark of mischief in her eye. By now, he wasn’t sure if his jaw would ever work again.

He stared at the back of her head as he followed her back to the elevator, willing her to spontaneously combust. She stopped suddenly and he nearly ran into her. Her attention was fixed on three crewmembers laughing as they sat at a table eating. The one facing James and Shepard noticed Shepard’s attention and shot up out of his chair, saluting. The other two turned to look before doing the same. James straightened and tried to meet their eyes in response, but all three of them were looking at Shepard.

“Aaron?” said Shepard, disbelief softening her voice.

The man who’d first noticed them looked at his two companions in confusion. “Uh… no, ma’am. Corporal Lucas Hornby, ma’am.”

“Oh.” She continued to study the Corporal before she straightened and looked away. When she spoke again, she sounded like normal, dismissive Commander Shepard again. “Continue, corporal.”

She resumed her slow hobble to the elevator. James glanced at the corporal, who was being interrogated by his friends in hushed voices. The corporal looked slightly troubled, but when he caught James’s eye, he smoothed the expression from his face. James turned away and followed Shepard into the elevator. He wanted to ask what the hell that was about, but he was more determined to give Shepard the silent treatment.

The ride back down to Engineering Deck was the noisiest he’d ever had with Shepard. She’d evidently recovered from whatever just happened. He had a feeling that even when they sat down to eat, she’d continue to talk. He tried to tune her out, to imagine that she was just the drive core being unusually loud, but it didn’t work. She was talking about sex. James might want to punch her, but he couldn’t ignore sex talk from a female voice.

James flopped down on his cot after slamming Shepard’s barred door shut on her. His tray of slop was a pile of unidentifiable stew on top of something that was supposed to be mashed potato, but he knew that it tasted more like salt and cardboard. He glanced at Shepard’s tray. It smelled like food of the gods.

She looked up from her meal to catch his longing look.

“I bought my own rations before I turned myself in to Anderson. I don’t like that—” she waved her hand at his food, “—and I can only live on MREs for so long.”

He looked down at his tray again mournfully before setting it aside. He really didn’t need this crap.

“I’ll trade you,” she said, pushing her tray through the gap at the foot of the bars. “Don’t get used to it though.”

James’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before his expression fell into a frown of suspicion.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’m being nice after making you cry last night.”

“I didn’t cry!”

She smirked, and he realised she’d been trying to prod that reaction out of him.

“And here I thought I’d get the silent treatment all day.”

She nudged the tray further out of her cell. After a brief moment where he glared at her amused face, he took her tray. His mouth was already watering at the smell teasing his senses. He pushed his tray of horrible stuff through the gap and Shepard picked it up, the wrinkle of her nose showing just how much she wasn’t going to enjoy the food.

James’s first mouthful was like fairies dancing across his tongue. Even the proper food at Arcturus hadn’t tasted this good. Shepard must have dropped a lot of credits for this stuff. He shovelled the curry and rice into his mouth like a starving man. When he took a break to breathe, he noticed Shepard hadn’t touched her food. Her fork hovered over the tray, but she just stared at it like it was three-day-old roadkill. He felt a little guilty that he was eating what she’d bought for herself, then shoved the feeling away. This was payment for her being such a bitch.

“So, who’s Aaron?” he asked, and then coughed at a tickle in his throat. Now that he’d broken his silence, he’d subject her to the same questioning he got last night.

“A boy who was taken by slavers.”

James’s food-laden fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He wasn’t expecting her to answer truthfully. He narrowed his eyes. Or was she lying? A small frown marred her brow before she seemed to shake off whatever memories were haunting her. Probably not a lie, he concluded.

His throat began to burn. Shepard’s food wasn’t that spicy, but he coughed anyway. A sip from his water bottle didn’t lessen the irritation.

“Too spicy for you?” she asked with a smirk.

He opened his mouth to retort about his _abulea_ ’ _s_ spicy cooking and threw up instead. If Shepard reacted, he didn’t hear it over his own retching. The tray dropped from his lap as he bent over, coughing, stomach heaving.

He felt rather than saw the fuzzy static of biotics. The smell of eezo accompanied a crashing squeal, and he looked up mid-cough. The bars keeping Shepard in her cell folded open like a curtain.

“Lieutenant Vega.” She gripped his chin and tilted his head up to look at her, but the scorching pain in his stomach made it too difficult to focus on her face. “James, you’re coughing up blood.”

He couldn’t taste anything but bile. Shepard let go of him and he retched again. Through blurry eyes, he could see flecks of blood in his slowly spreading sick. He stared at it. He was used to seeing his own blood, but not mixed with something he just ate. He hadn’t thrown up since the first time he’d looked down a scope at a person rather than a black target and blew her merc head clean off.

Shepard swore. “Locked. Someone really didn’t want us getting out. EDI, override the lock.”

Who was Edie?

“Unlocked, Shepard.” Female voice. Pleasing tone. Even though his blurry vision he couldn’t see anyone else in the room, though. “My systems have been compromised. The engineers have been recalibrating routines all over the ship and, as per Joker’s instructions, I have fixed only the changes that were detrimental. I will examine the remaining recalibrations again for suspicious activity.”

Too much talking. James wanted them to shut up. His head throbbed. His throat burned. His arms shook as he tried to keep himself from falling face-first into his own vomit. How long had it been since he first threw up? It felt like hours. Days. Eternity.

“Get up.”

He looked up at Shepard. When did she move from the door? She hooked a hand under his armpit and hauled him to his feet with strength that no normal person should have, let alone someone with half her limbs injured.

“Stay with me, James.” She was calling him James again. It sounded odd. “Keep walking. If you die and make me fall over, I will bury you in a tutu.”

“Make it blue,” he said through gritted teeth, and Shepard snorted.


	4. Chapter 4

Shepard slumped on the couch in her quarters— _Anderson’s quarters_ , she corrected herself—her eyes closed with one hand massaging her temples. Anderson sat on the adjacent couch, a small stack of datapads and a cup of coffee that had gone cold on the table before him.

“I told you I didn’t need a guard. I always manage to walk out alive. Reassign him somewhere else before he becomes another casualty.” Shepard would have paced around the room if she hadn’t already worn out her bad leg while dragging James up to the medbay. She settled for leaning forward to poke through the datapads. Most of them were powered down and a few she recognised as the higher-end models, the only ones that Top Secret files could be stored on. “He must be a masochist. I don’t know anyone else who would put up with the shit I’ve heaped on him.”

“Despite you not being quite how he imagined—” Shepard rolled her eyes; she already knew she was nothing like how anyone imagined her, “—he still considers you a hero. Besides, he had a rough few months before this.”

“The Collector attack?”

Anderson raised an eyebrow. “He told you about that?”

“Not really,” she said, flopping back against the couch. “I dragged a bit out of him. He tossed and turned all night in his nightmares after that.”

“He sleeps like you.”

Shepard gave him a sharp look then shrugged. “I hate sleeping anyway.”

“Pity. It might make you less cranky.” Shepard chuckled, and Anderson smiled. “You used to laugh more easily, Shepard.”

“I used to have more things to laugh about,” she said. The smile still clung to her lips, but it had turned melancholy. She stood and stretched before testing her leg with a few experimental steps. Still tender, but another day’s rest and it wouldn’t be so bad. “I’m going to go check on my incapacitated guard.”

“Still running from talking about yourself, I see.”

“Well, some things have to stay the same in this galaxy, Anderson,” she said and waved over her shoulder before limping out the door.

Technically, she should have a new guard, but she wasn’t surprised no one on the ship had volunteered, even temporarily. In the few days since James had been her guard, he’d not only run into a burning building and been poisoned, but he’d also had to deal with her superior attitude. Even Shepard wouldn’t willingly take on James’s job.

Assassins were a pain in the ass. They were slippery bastards who fought from the shadows, and Shepard had never been one for subtlety in combat. Whoever was on the Normandy—she couldn’t believe the assassin wasn’t here—was as slippery as they came. She wished she had Thane with her; fight fire with fire.

Shepard made the careful trip to the medbay in silence, trying not to tax her leg. She acknowledged no one, even when they stopped to salute her. It would have been nice to be able to drop in on Joker. He always knew how to make her forget her troubles, but Shepard was still technically under arrest and she knew her boundaries.

As soon as the medbay door opened, the smell of antiseptic stung her nose. Shepard’s eyebrow twitched upward when she saw the doctor. He was the same one who treated her on Arcturus Station.

“Doctor Chang. I wasn’t expecting to see you on the ship,” she said, hobbling into the room and letting the door close behind her.

“I was reassigned,” he said, standing and giving her a kindly smile. “The last doctor was one of the casualties from the explosion.”

She hadn’t met the previous doctor, but the knowledge that someone on the ship had died because of her twisted her gut. She stuffed the guilt back into its box to deal with later, but she couldn’t help the remorseful sigh that left her.

“What did you find?” she asked, wondering if Chang would comply or tell her she no longer had clearance.

“Tests on the opened and unopened packages you gave me came back positive for three different poisons,” he said, swiping a datapad off his desk and handing it to her.

“Which one did he get?” she asked, scrolling through the data.

“A form of arsenic. Not the most efficient way to kill someone, but I’m betting whoever put the poison in the packages was hoping no one would figure out how to override the doors in time.” The doctor turned from her to check over James’ vitals. “A hundred years ago and he’d be dead with this amount of arsenic in his system. Someone really hates you, Commander.”

She snorted. “I’m used to it.”

“Archaic way to kill someone, though,” he said, his tone offhand as he sat back down at his desk. He swivelled his chair around and propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingers steepled before him. “The methods of counteracting the poison are equally archaic. We get just one short topic on these old kinds of poisoning during med school. Luckily for the lieutenant, I took a special interest in archaic poisons—a product of reading too many classical novels.”

“The classics do love poison,” she said with a dismissive nod. “Can I see Lieutenant Vega’s files?”

Since the doctor was so forthcoming with James’s condition, it couldn’t hurt to ask for what Anderson had denied her. Classified information, blah, blah, blah. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know that James had a run-in with the Collectors. What could be so classified that letting her read his file would be a security risk?

Chang smiled and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Commander, but I was instructed to deny you access when you asked to see the Lieutenant’s files”

“Anderson is very annoying,” she said with a purse of her lips and resumed her careful walk to the chair beside James’s bed. “Do you mind if I wait?”

Chang waved hand in acquiescence before swivelling back to his computer.

Shepard didn’t immediately sit, wanting to check over James with her own eyes first. His usually tanned complexion looked pasty under the fluorescent lighting. His breath was barely a whisper, a welcome change to the ragged wheezes when she first brought him to the medbay. If he was a part of her team, she would have murmured into his ear that he’d better wake up soon, or she was going to kick him in the quad. She contemplated patting his hand but it felt too intimate, too comfortable. Instead, she sat and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Time passed slowly. She wished she had her omnitool, but it had been confiscated—along with her weapons, armour and, oh, her whole damn ship—when she turned herself in. Even though the doctor had declined to let her read James’s files, he’d offered her a datapad with some simple games to pass the time. He made a point to say said datapad was blocked from accessing the extranet. Damn Anderson. He knew her too well. She’d never regretted serving with him on the SSV Tokyo or on the Normandy until now.

“I’m going to get some dinner. Would you like to join me, Commander?” asked Chang, interrupting her game.

Shepard smiled and shook her head. “I’d rather not test my luck. I’m a much worse patient than the lieutenant.”

The doctor laughed and left.

Her reluctance was more about making sure James lived. Not that James was in any danger of dying now, but, still, Shepard had to make sure.

She went back to her game and was in the middle of beating a game’s rather stupid AI when a cough broke her concentration. She looked up to find James’s eyes open a crack. They looked hazy. She smiled, not caring that the AI had killed her and the screen was flashing ‘Game Over’.

“You lied to me, Shepard.” Her smile dropped. “You said your food wasn’t poisoned.”

There was a beat where Shepard stared at him, slack-jawed, before she burst out laughing.

“You must be a krogan hybrid. Only extra organs could have saved you from that much poison.”

He chuckled weakly. “I could use a beer as payment for taking the heat for you.”

“Can’t help you there,” she said, standing to pour water from a jug on the bedside table into a cup. She held it out to him. “This will have to do.”

She watched him take an experimental sip of the water. If he was worried about it being poisoned, he shouldn’t have been. He wasn’t the target.

“The doctor will want to–”

James’s hand shot out to wrap around her wrist and stop her from going further than the one step back that she’d taken. Shepard hated being touched uninvited, but his hand was a warm cocoon against the cool medbay air. His skin was calloused, a real soldier’s hand, and his rough fingers rasped along the sensitive skin of her inner wrist as he let go. She swallowed a lump in her throat and rubbed her wrist to try to get rid of the ghost of his touch.

“The doc did a good job. Let him eat,” he said, eyes flickering to the window where they could see the doctor sitting and eating with a few crewmembers.

Shepard nodded when he looked back at her and she made to turn away again.

“I meant stay, Shepard. I could use the company.”

His longing for company was so acute that she almost felt like she could reach out and touch it. She continued to stand for a few seconds, wondering whether she should go anyway, before she sat again.

They stared at each other in silence. It was easier to talk when they were trying to aggravate each other.

Shepard sighed, leaning back in her chair and stretching her legs out under James’s bed. “I’m not good at small talk.”

“Well, I’m awesome at it.” James shifted to sit more upright in the bed. “Tell me more about the things you’d do to people who steal your food.”

Shepard didn’t know how long it took Chang to finish his meal because, for once, she hadn’t been watching the clock. The only thing that nagged at her was that the feel of his fingers on her skin wouldn’t go away.


	5. Chapter 5

Three days later and the Normandy had been in orbit over Earth for almost forty-nine hours, awaiting an empty dry dock for the retrofit. Shepard sat on a container in the shuttle bay watching people scurry around the shuttle. It still wore Cerberus colours. There was no paint on board to make it less conspicuous, and Shepard shook her head at someone trying to colour over the orange with a marker. That was just going to burn off when they entered atmo.

James had disappeared to the armoury. Apparently, it was safe to let her sit in the one place where she could commandeer a shuttle and get off the Normandy, but it wasn’t safe to let her go to the head alone. Shepard guessed it might have to do with the smidgeon of trust they’d built up since James was released from the medbay. After all, the bars on her cell hadn’t been fixed, but she’d still dutifully stayed inside the cell, even if she could now climb out of it whenever she pleased.

Corporal Hornby was pacing up and down in front of the shuttle. Pilot Officer Torig—yet another person she didn’t know—was tinkering with something under the shuttle.

“This is what happens when you don’t stick to the schedule,” said Hornby, punctuating his words by banging his open palm with the side of his other hand like he was chopping something. “Everyone’s caught with their pants around their ankles, trying to do everything double-time to catch up. If we’d stayed at Arcturus for as long as we were supposed to, we wouldn’t be sitting up here.”

Shepard suppressed a smile. Hornby reminded her so much of Aaron. Not just in how he looked, but his mannerisms. She could picture Aaron now: his brown eyes serious even at seven years old and his foot tapping impatiently because fourteen-year-old Shepard was taking forever to get ready for school. She looked away from the corporal, thankful that he was too focused on complaining to take notice of Shepard’s gloominess.

“You gotta learn to be more flexible,” said Torig as he stuck his head out from under the shuttle. The pilot had been under the shuttle since before James had deposited Shepard in the shuttle bay. “Can you shut your trap for a sec? I’m trying to get this bird ready to fly.”

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Hornby as the pilot disappeared under the shuttle again.

Shepard hoped they weren’t about to delve into shuttle mechanics. She’d rather listen to an elcor sing opera.

“Nothing. I’m just doing pre-flight checks.”

“Under the shuttle?” Hornby sounded sceptical as he walked closer to the shuttle. “I can help, if you need an engineer.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Torig quickly and climbed out of the recess under the shuttle, wiping his hands on a dirty towel. “I’m thorough, that’s all.”

The conversation between them came to an abrupt end as Torig went to change out of his dirty coveralls. Shepard tuned out of Hornby’s muttering about schedules when she heard the distinct clanking of armoured boots moving toward her, rather than the soft thudding of everyday boots that everyone else in the shuttle bay had on.

“Haven’t been back on Earth in four years,” said James, clipping his weapons to the back of his armour as he sauntered up to Shepard. He dropped a pair of cuffs into her lap. “Anderson wants you to at least try to look like a prisoner.”

Her lips curled in disgust as he held up the cool metal cuffs. She didn’t have to be wearing the cuffs to remember how they weighed her hands down as heavily as guilt weighed on her conscience. Not all cuffs were like these. When locked and activated, they were made to feel heavier the further they moved from the tracking device strapped to her ankle, preventing them from becoming blunt weapons with the power of two arms behind them. Every time she tried to move freely with them, panic bubbled and she had to wrestle it down.

“Put them on right before we get out of the shuttle in Vancouver. Never know what might happen between now and when we land,” he said as he walked off to inspect the shuttle.

Shepard wasn’t buying his attempt at nonchalance. For one thing, Anderson probably told him to slap the cuffs on her now, and, for another, she doubted he was truly interested in a vehicle that had no weapons. No, he was just being nice.

“You really are the worst guard in the galaxy.” She stood, still holding the handcuffs, and followed him to the shuttle. “It would be really easy to manipulate you if I were some pretty young thing with big, blue eyes that could cry on cue.”

Her jibe didn’t have the venomous coating that it would have had a few days ago.

James chuckled. “Had my fair share of those girls already, Shepard. Not my type anymore.”

“Oh? What is your type now?” she asked, hopping deftly up to sit on the floor of the shuttle and letting her legs dangle off the side. Her knee was still in a brace but walking no longer made her want to swear and her shoulder had finally been unstrapped. She leaned back onto her hands, happy that she could move freely again.

“I bet you’d like to know,” he said with a grin, resting a hip on the shuttle next to her.

“It’s guys isn’t it?” She laughed at James’s roll of his eyes. “At least the female population isn’t missing out on anything.”

“Oh, I can be very charming.” He leaned in close, a hand braced on the shuttle floor close to her hip. He smelled like Alliance-issue soap mixed with popped heat sinks. “Wanna find out, _bonita_?”

If Shepard had been ten years younger, she might have blushed. She might even have fallen into bed with him, but ten years was a long time to develop some sensibility.

She leaned toward him, lips centimetres from his. His eyes flickered down to watch her tongue dance across her lips. He didn’t go red, there wasn’t a comical _ding_ of something getting hard down there, but she did see the sudden dilation of his pupils that came with desire, and the slight frown that followed. She attributed that frown to either surprise or confusion.

A small smirk spread across her lips.

“You couldn’t handle me, Lieutenant.” She tapped his armoured chest with the handcuffs. “Best you stick to the little leagues.”

“If you’re both done, you have landing clearance for the shuttle.”

Anderson’s voice broke the tension between them, and James jumped away like he’d been burned. He stood to rigid attention, his salute textbook, and he stayed like that while Anderson eyed Shepard, who was shaking with silent laughter. She should salute the admiral, but they were long past those kinds of formalities. Besides which, she’d been stood down. She didn’t need to salute anyone.

Finally, Anderson acknowledged James, and the lieutenant put his hand back by his side, still standing to attention. Shepard would not have pinned James as a by-the-book soldier, but apparently he was very serious about things pertaining to rank.  Once she got reinstated—and Shepard had no doubt that she eventually would—she wondered if he’d show any deference to her.

“Put the cuffs on, Shepard,” said Anderson. “I’ll do what I can about your freedom while on Earth, but for now the galaxy wants to watch you walk out in cuffs.”

She contemplated telling Anderson that James had allowed her to keep the cuffs off until they touched down in Vancouver, but decided not to when she noticed the touch of pink to James’s ears. As she suspected, he’d disobeyed Anderson’s order to cuff her now. For that small measure of comfort he wanted to give her, she kept her mouth shut and clamped her wrists into the cuffs. Anderson touched a few buttons on his omnitool and little green lights flickered to life on the cuffs. Even if she hadn’t seen the lights, the sudden weight of the cuffs would have told her they’d been activated.

Doctor Chang and Corporal Hornby hopped into the shuttle after Shepard and James. She didn’t know why the other two were there and she wasn’t given an explanation.

“I’ll be following you to Vancouver tomorrow,” said Anderson from the doorway of the shuttle. “Try not to blow anything up, Shepard.”

“No guarantees,” she said with a grin.

Anderson shook his head, a little smile on his face, and walked away from the shuttle. The door hissed closed. Shepard eyeballed the five-point harness and then James.

“How am I supposed to put this on when my hands are cuffed?” she asked.

James pressed a few buttons on his omnitool and the cuffs unlocked. “Keep them off until Vancouver, but don’t tell the admiral.”

“You’re a sucker for a pretty face, sir,” said Torig, shooting a wry smile over his shoulder.

“Shut up and fly, kid,” said James with a laugh and the pilot saluted.

Shepard strapped herself into the five-point harness, clutching the handcuffs in her lap. James strapped himself in next to her.

“Why are you going to Earth with us, doc?” asked James.

“Medical supplies,” said Chang as he checked over his harness to make sure it was tight. _Nervous flyer_ , thought Shepard. “The Normandy doesn’t have all the Alliance standard issue medical supplies and, while we wait for a dry dock, Anderson doesn’t want an understocked medbay.”

The shuttle left the Normandy so smoothly that Shepard only realised they’d entered space when the shuttle’s artificial gravity took over from the Normandy’s slightly higher one. She craned her neck to look out the front window. A tapestry of green lay out under the halo of ozone surrounding Earth. She hadn’t been back since she left the Villa in Rio, N6 designation on her scuffed armour and heart set on gaining the coveted N7 insignia.

She looked away from Earth. The coming months were not going to be like her time at the Villa.

The corporal was leaning his head back against the headrest, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. He looked to be concentrating on something, but there was nothing on the ceiling but bare metal.

“Why are you being sent to Earth, corporal?” asked Shepard.

“Escorting some of the engineers up to the Normandy so they can get acquainted with her while she’s running, ma’am,” said the corporal.

“If anyone’s interested in why I’m here, I’m piloting the shuttle,” said Torig, glancing at them over his shoulder.

“No one’s interested,” said Hornby, laughing.

They fell into silence as the shuttle descended into the atmosphere. The shuttle shook hard enough to make her shoulder twinge as she was rattled in her harness. The doctor had his eyes closed, knuckles white as he gripped his harness. The corporal’s gaze was fixed on the windshield, watching the burn of reentry lick up the shuttle.

Shepard didn’t know how many times she’d escaped and reentered atmo over the years. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. The only difference was how long it took. Shepard relaxed in her seat as much as she could with James’s considerable bulk taking up half her seat as well as his own. Why did he have to wear his armour anyway?

The shuttle stabilised as they moved into the lower atmosphere. The doctor visibly relaxed and the corporal looked away from the windshield to check his omnitool.

“We’ll be at Vancouver within the hour. We came in too far north, over the Canadian wilderness. Have you ever seen so much green–?”

An explosion—rocket, bomb, shots, Shepard couldn’t identify the source—rocked the shuttle and threw them all forward in their harnesses. Acrid smoke filled the cabin and she covered her mouth with her hands before she could inhale too much of it. The cabin lights flickered into emergency orange and alarms rang from the cockpit.

“We’re going to die.” The doctor’s mournful moan made Hornby glare at him.

“We’re not going to die, doctor.” Shepard knew she couldn’t promise that, but she said it anyway.

Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling and Shepard pulled hers down, tightening the strap around her head. Sweet air filled her lungs. James nudged her and jerked his head at the two sitting opposite them. The doctor had his eyes closed, hands clasped in front of his chest and his mouth moving rapidly.

“Praying’s not going to help the doctor, Corporal,” said Shepard, gesturing at Chang with an impatient hand. “Put his goddamn mask on for him.”

Hornby scrambled to comply.

“Aft thrusters completely disabled. We’re pretty much dead in the air,” Torig’s fingers danced over the shuttle controls and his voice had climbed a few notes in his panic. “Brace for impact in two minutes.”


	6. Chapter 6

The back of James’s head stung from where it hit the wall behind him when they crashed. His shoulder wasn’t feeling great either. The cabin was full of smoke, but fire hadn’t breached the cabin yet. Shepard’s head lolled against his shoulder. Her barrier glowed around her body, so she couldn’t be unconscious. She groaned and struggled to sit up in her seat. There was a cut above her eyebrow, and blood oozed down to her temple from how her head had been against him. With her head upright, it started to trickle into her eye, and she wiped it away with the sleeve of her dress blues.

“You okay?” he asked, and she nodded groggily.

James undid his harness and looked across the small cabin at the doctor and the corporal. They were slumped forward in their seats, their harnesses keeping them from toppling to the floor.

Shepard was his priority, though. She’d gotten her buckle undone and stood on shaky legs. Her arm shot out to stabilise herself against the wall, perhaps feeling less confident about her injured leg after the crash. A muscle twitched in her cheek as she gritted her teeth, and James knew that if he offered to help her out, she’d just push him away.

“I’ll get the supplies. You check on the others,” she said. It was her ‘commander voice’ and, for once, James didn’t argue about taking orders from her.

He checked the doctor first. He was breathing. Shallow, but better than nothing. The corporal and the pilot were the same: knocked out, but alive. A quick glance out the window after James checked the pilot revealed a small clearing. James had to hand it to the pilot for not only finding somewhere relatively safe to crash, but for not killing them all in the process too. Or maybe it was just because the Kodiak was called the combat cockroach for a reason—it was practically indestructible.

He looked over his shoulder at Shepard, who had pulled some of the emergency supplies out of a cupboard and was pushing at the warped shuttle door with her shoulder. He was about to help before she glowed with biotics and blew the door clean off in a squeal of metal.

James would never get bored of seeing that.

He returned to his next priority: getting the doctor conscious. He started to undo the buckle on the doctor’s harness but then felt himself lifted off the floor and yanked out of the shuttle. While he liked watching biotics, he didn’t particularly enjoy being subject to them. Not when he wasn’t expecting it, anyway.

The metal roof of the shuttle was replaced with cloudless blue sky and the pointy tops of pine trees. He landed on his ass before heat and noise knocked him over onto his back. Groaning, he rolled onto his hands and knees.

“You’re lucky I kind of like you, Lieutenant, or I’d have left you in there,” said Shepard from where she was standing a few metres away from him, leaning against a tree trunk.

James looked over his shoulder at the fireball that used to be the shuttle. There was no way the other three were alive now.

He sat back on his heels, heart racing from his near-death experience. “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Torig misjudged the angle of reentry.” The way Shepard looked away made him think she didn’t believe that explanation any more than he did. “We better find cover.”

Yeah, she definitely didn’t believe the reentry thing. Someone had planted a bomb or shot at them or something equally hostile. He could practically read her thoughts as she eyed the burning wreckage. She wanted to get away from the site, just in case the people who turned up first weren’t friendly. James couldn’t say he disagreed with her.

He picked up the two bags Shepard had managed to salvage before he pulled up his omnitool to check how far they were from Vancouver.

Shepard’s hand clamped over his arm and she shook her head. “No electronics.”

James looked at her sceptically, waving to her leg. “They’re going to track you anyway.”

She shook her head again, pulling up her pants leg to show him the ankle bracelet. There were no lights flashing on it.

“I just checked it. This is just an ugly piece of jewellery now.”

He frowned, looking from the device and then back to Shepard’s face. “No one’s supposed to have the deactivation code for that except Anderson.”

Shepard shrugged. “Whoever’s after me doesn’t mind looking the old-fashioned way if I walked away from the crash. They just don’t want the Alliance to find me first.”

James stared at her. She was awfully calm for someone who’d survived three assassination attempts in a handful of days and was now on the run in the Canadian wilderness with no armour, no weapons, and no electronics to make the journey faster. Then again, this was Commander Shepard, and she had apparently survived death.

“Is being around you always this exciting?” he asked when they started walking again.

“Pretty much,” she said, shooting him a smile over her shoulder.

***

James couldn’t be certain how far they’d trekked through the forest or how long they’d been walking. All he knew was that they were heading southeast, toward where his omnitool had said Vancouver was before Shepard made him turn it off. He wished she’d allowed him just a few more minutes on the omnitool, just in case there was a small town somewhere closer than the ninety klick trek to Vancouver. If they were on paved roads, James estimated they’d get there in four days, but maybe they’d get lucky and someone would find them before that. Since Shepard was insisting on taking the direct, discrete route over mountainous terrain, they were going to be lucky to have enough supplies, let alone have anyone find them.

The sun had already passed its zenith when they crashed and it was now hanging low in the sky. The forest around them had started to darken even before the sky turned a brilliant chaos of red and pink and purple. He was so focused on marvelling at the Earth sky that he barely heard Shepard say his name the first time.

“James! Slow down!”

He snapped out of his staring and turned. She was leaning against a tree trunk with all her weight on her good leg. Sweat beaded on her forehead even though the temperature was dropping rapidly. He felt like smacking himself in the head. Her leg was fine when she wasn’t doing anything, but this fast trek on rolling terrain had been hard even for him.

“We’ll camp here for the night,” he said, dropping the bags he was carrying.

Shepard looked relieved. James didn’t know why she didn’t just tell him to stop earlier. Then he remembered that she was even more stubborn than he was.

She hobbled over to the bags and dropped to the ground. While she unzipped one of the bags, he opened the other one to see what was in it. Sleeping bag, blanket, flares, matches, basic medkit—the usual survival gear. The bag Shepard was rooting through had a big, red cross on the side of it and his heart sank. She’d probably banked on getting the doctor out as well, and so grabbed the full medkit. It might have a blanket in it, but it wouldn’t have a sleeping bag.

Shepard pulled out a torch and turned it on. A second later and she pulled out a packaged syringe, brandishing it in the air like a trophy. She struggled back to her feet and undid her belt buckle. James hastily turned his head away, hoping she wasn’t taking her pants off.

“Here. Inject this into my knee.”

He held out his hand, still looking away. She dropped the syringe into his palm.

“What’s this?” he asked, squinting in the darkness to try to read the words printed on the side.

“Magic.”

He looked at her then and congratulated himself for not looking at her underwear. “You have no idea what it does and you want me to jam it into your knee?”

“I know what it _does_ , I just don’t know what it _is_. It makes joints feel better for a while,” she said with a shrug. “Or were you planning to carry me piggyback around the wilderness?”

He shook his head and held the syringe out to her. “No way. I barely passed basic med training. I’d probably end up making it worse.”

Shepard sighed and snatched the syringe back from him. She sat on the ground again, and James watched her face shift from annoyed to apprehensive, her gaze fixed on her knee like she was hoping it would get better by itself. The syringe hovered over her skin, the tip shaking. Maybe it was just because Shepard’s hands weren’t steady in her pain, but the intensity in her eyes made him think it wasn’t pain that was bothering her.

“Are you afraid of needles, Shepard?” he asked, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

She glared at him before injecting herself with so much delicacy that he knew she’d done it a hundred times before, just possibly not on herself. The needle must have gone all the way to the joint, and the hiss of pain that escaped through her clenched teeth told him it wasn’t particularly pleasant. He screwed up his face in sympathy.

When she was done, she wrapped the needle in its packaging and tossed it into the bag. He continued to watch her as she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“You want the bad news or the good news?”

Shepard’s lips quirked up into a cynical smile and she opened her eyes. Pain still lined her face but she looked more relaxed. “Hit me with the bad news first.”

“The bad news is that there are two blankets but only one sleeping bag.”

To her credit, she didn’t recoil at the thought of possibly having to share a sleeping bag.

“In that case…” She stood and pulled her pants back up. James snorted. “And the good news?”

“I have no injuries.”

She chuckled, shaking her head, and thrust her hands back into the med bag. She pulled out the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I’ll take first watch,” she said, taking a seat on a fallen log.

James nodded as he picked up the blanket and sleeping bag.

Of all the people he could be stuck in a forest with, Shepard would have been the absolute last person he’d have wanted a few days ago. Now, well, things change. He liked that she didn’t have to be told where the other blanket was or that they’d have to take turns sleeping through the night. He also didn’t have to worry that she couldn’t keep up with him or that she’d start to unravel psychologically. It wasn’t that any other marine with survival training would be useless, but… ah, hell, he didn’t know. It was Shepard. James was finding it harder and harder to explain what he thought about her now that he didn’t find her insufferable.

James kept his armour on and simply wrapped the blanket around his shoulders before squeezing himself into the sleeping bag. He fell into a dreamless asleep quickly, exhausted after all the adrenaline of the day had worn off. 


	7. Chapter 7

He didn’t know what woke him up, but it wasn’t Shepard shaking him awake. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. Stars were smattered across it like diamonds on black velvet and the moon shone bright and full, making the forest around them brighter than he expected. The occasional rustle of small animals in the undergrowth and flap of wings in the darkness reminded him of camping in the state parks near Camp Pendleton.

James could see Shepard out of the corner of his eye. She hadn’t moved from where she’d been when he fell asleep. She was staring up at the sky as well. The moonlight bathed her features, making her skin even paler and the freckles across her nose stand out like the stars in the night sky. He wondered what she was thinking about. Perhaps she wasn’t thinking at all, just letting the majesty of the Earth sky roll over her.

He noticed then that she was shivering. Parts of his armour were climate controlled whereas Shepard’s dress blues wouldn’t be much better than a stripper outfit in the freezing night air. He couldn’t help imagining Shepard in a stripper outfit and had to stifle his laughter. It didn’t matter that it would undoubtedly be hot, Shepard would shoot anyone before they got her in that kind of get-up.

“What are you laughing at?” she asked, still staring up at the sky. Shepard always knew when he was awake.

“You in a stripper outfit.”

Her head whipped around so fast he was surprised she didn’t spin a three-sixty from the force. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a stripper outfit.”

“You couldn’t pull one off anyway.” He wondered if she’d–

“I could pull one off if I needed to.”

Yup, she fell for it. She must have been tired; it was way too obvious a trap. “Great. I’ll get you one when we reach Vancouver.”

She gave him that deadpan look that she hadn’t given him since he was poisoned. “No.”

He laughed and crawled out of the sleeping bag. He stood and stretched, missing the warmth of it already and wishing he could go back to sleep. That wouldn’t be fair, though, and he nodded his head for Shepard to get in the sleeping bag. When she stood, it was without the pain that had contorted her face earlier, and when she walked, the limp was gone. Whatever she’d injected herself with obviously worked.

He took her place, keeping the blanket wrapped around him, and stared into the darkness. They didn’t need to discuss lighting a fire when they first stopped; they both knew it would be too obvious a beacon to anyone flying overhead. The sleeping bag rustled as Shepard snuggled into it, and then everything fell silent again. The soft noises of nocturnal animals eventually resumed as the bipedal forest intruders settled down.

For a while, he stared at the sky again, trying in vain to pick the star systems that he’d been to. There was an annoying sound that kept pulling him out of his musings, and he finally pin-pointed it: Shepard’s teeth were chattering.

“Still cold?”

“I’m fine.”

_Yeah, right_ , he thought.

He stood and walked over to stand above her. She looked up at him, an eyebrow raised, and her mouth clenched shut so he couldn’t hear her teeth chattering.

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d get in trouble if you died of hypothermia,” he said as he pulled off his gloves and arm greaves. “Could you imagine your gravestone? ‘Here lies Commander Shepard: survivor of a thousand battles, killed by a bit of cold weather’.”

He dropped the armour pieces onto one of the bags and started to unbuckle the chestpiece.

“You are not getting undressed, Lieutenant.”

“Not fully. Secretly, you’d like that though,” he said with a wink that he wasn’t entirely sure she could see.

Shepard sat up and opened her mouth to say something, but it looked like she changed her mind and stood instead. She clutched the blanket around her like it was armour and watched in silence as he detached his shotgun and his rifle and dropped the chest and back pieces on the bag as well. Shepard was standing so the shadows hid her face, but her rigid stance told him that she didn’t like the look of this.

He half-unzipped the sleeping bag, setting it on the ground next to a tree, and placed both his weapons on the ground beside him. He tucked his feet into the end of the sleeping bag and leaned his back against the tree before motioning with his hand for her to come over.

For a second, she hesitated, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“I’m not going to take advantage of you, Shepard,” he said with a roll of his eyes and another insistent wave of his hand. “Apart from it being wrong, you’d break my fingers.”

“I’d break more than your fingers,” she said as she finally moved toward him and settled between his legs.

She zipped the sleeping bag up most of the way, covering the rest of her upper body with the blanket, and rested back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and she tensed. He thought maybe she was going to tell him to let go before she tugged the blanket out from under his arms and rearranged them over his arms to keep him warm too. She eased against him, and soon their combined body heat produced more warmth than even his armour had managed to.

Eventually, her breathing deepened and her head drooped to the side. He looked down at her and brushed some of her hair away from where it fell over her eyes. She had that slight frown between her eyebrows again, and he smoothed his thumb over it.

James had never denied that Shepard was easy on the eyes. The one girlfriend who hadn’t cheated on him had had red hair, though not as bright as Shepard’s, so he’d decided long ago that redheads were the way to go. Shepard’s eyes were her best feature, though—on her face, anyway. They were so expressive when she wasn’t trying to shut him out, shifting from jade shards when she was angry to summer moss when she smiled to the green of an aurora when she thought no one was watching her and she got lost in her thoughts. James wasn’t a poetic man, but he could wax lyrical about her eyes. And her ass, but that didn’t seem very poetic.

She shifted, as if trying to bury herself inside him, and his arms tightened around her. Her hand snaked up to rest on one of his arms while the other fell against his leg. As much as he tried to tell himself this was just for warmth, she fit too easily against his body. Her hair tickled his chin, and he had to hold on to the urge to bury his face in it and breathe her in. He knew exactly what she’d smell like too. Underneath the smoke and pine that clung to both of them, she’d still smell faintly of Alliance-issue soap and something uniquely Shepard that he’d recognise even if he only got the barest whiff.

Any other woman and he would have already tried something. He kept telling himself it was because Shepard was insufferably superior, but that wasn’t exactly true anymore. Oh, she was still infuriating as hell when she wanted to be. She led the way through the forest even though he could tell she had no idea about trekking; she went straight for the balls when she felt like she was being attacked; she was vaguer than his _abuela’s_ fortune teller when she didn’t want to talk about something. At the end of the day, though, he knew full well why he hadn’t made a move, and it had nothing to do with her personality or that she could break him in half; it was because she was _The_ Commander Shepard, and _The_ Commander Shepard had no business with—nor any interest in, as far as he could tell—him.

He leaned his head back against the tree trunk and sighed.

If they weren’t in unfamiliar wilderness, Shepard shivering in only her dress blues, and someone possibly hunting them, he would have taken a stroll to stop himself from doing something stupid. As it was, he stared up at the tree foliage and tried to imagine Shepard was a pillow.

It didn’t really work.

***

The assassin woke and screamed.

Hands held him down as he struggled to sit upright. A bright light blinded him, and he looked around, willing his blurry vision to clear so he could assess the situation.

“Let him go,” came a familiar, gravelly voice, and the hands disappeared.

The assassin sat bolt upright and instantly collapsed forward, agony crashing over his entire body. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears threatened to fall. His groans escaped through his clenched teeth, even though he tried to choke them back.

“Where–?”

“Medbay. You failed. Shepard and the guard are gone.” The assassin’s stomach clenched as that gravelly voice dropped to a dangerous growl. A hand grabbed at his throat, pulled him off the bed, and slammed him against a wall. “I had to leave a fucking body in that charred mess you made just so the Alliance wouldn’t wonder where the hell you’d gone.”

The assassin blinked, his vision starting to clear. Four eyes looked at him with such malice but when he tried to look away, the batarian forced his face back to look at her. Foul breath—meat and mint and cigarettes—washed over him, and he had to swallow the bile that surged up in his throat. The batarian’s pointy teeth were bared with every word she spat, and the assassin feared she’d rip out his throat with those teeth.

“You will be regenerated. It will not be pleasant, and I will send you after them again. But this time, you’ll be on a shorter leash.” The grip around his throat tightened, and the assassin nodded frantically, his vision blackening around the edges.

The batarian released him just as he felt ready to pass out. He fell to his knees, coughing and retching, the tears that burned behind his eyes earlier finally streaking down his cheeks.

“Fix him,” he heard the batarian say as heavy boots clanked away. “I want him back out there in a week.”


	8. Chapter 8

Shepard went from asleep to alert in seconds, all without moving a muscle. It was still early, the sky awash with pastel pinks and purples. Her brain tried to sort out her surroundings. It wasn’t so much that she’d woken up in a forest—she’d done that plenty of times—but that she wasn’t sleeping alone. She hadn’t woken up with someone’s arms around her since… well, since Ilos, but that was a memory she preferred to keep locked away.

The stink of smoke and pine still hovered around her senses. Underneath, she could faintly smell popped heatsinks and woody cologne. She was still reclining against James’s chest, but his arms had moved from last night. One arm rested heavy around her shoulders while the other curled around waist, his hand against her stomach. One of her hands was atop his, her fingers falling into the spaces between his.

It was too intimate.

She should get up.

A frigid wind swept through the forest, and Shepard huddled further under the blankets.

“Sleeping beauty’s finally awake,” said James. Shepard replied with a sarcastic laugh. “Good sleep?”

“Yes, but not enough. We better make a move.”

He unwound his arms from around her and she instantly missed his warmth—no, _the_ warmth. Not _his_ warmth.

She unzipped the sleeping bag and stood, stepping away so James could get up too. She stretched her arms up over her head, fingers spread wide, and wiggled her body to get all the muscles working and the cricks out of her joints. She turned, still stretching, and expected to see James doing the same. He was still in the sleeping bag, staring at her with contemplative eyes.

“What?”

He ripped his gaze away and stood. “Nothing.”

Shepard shrugged and pulled two MREs out of one of the bags. She tossed one to James, who wasn’t paying attention, and it hit him in the chest. He fumbled to catch it before it fell to the ground.

“What’s wrong with you?” She’d never seen him so uncoordinated, even when he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing.

He ripped open his packet, head down. It felt like he was avoiding looking at her. “Tired. Let’s just eat and go.”

She rolled her eyes and sat on the ground before ripping open her own packet. They didn’t bother to heat their MREs with the flameless ration heater; Shepard simply scarfed down the food, hoping that eating it faster would mean she’d taste it less.

Shepard heard the roar of a shuttle before she saw it. James heard it too. He stopped his munching and looked up. She motioned for him to take cover. He nodded and stuffed the rest of the food in his mouth as he shoved himself up against a tree. Shepard crouched under low-hanging branches. Biotic static curled around the nodes in her body, ready to wreak havoc if needed. She heard the faint clicking and whirring of James’s rifle as it unfolded to its full size.

A dark blue shuttle appeared above them, and Shepard froze. It barely brushed the tops of the trees as it slowly swept the area. Shepard and James waited, motionless and silent. The shuttle continued its search, banking down into the valley, and Shepard was able to see the Alliance logo emblazoned across the side.

Something nagged at her thoughts, something important. The sound of James unzipping a bag interrupted her. He’d pulled out a flare. She launched herself toward him and snatched it from his hands.

He glared at her and tried to grab the flare back but she jumped out of his reach. “What are you doing? They’re Alliance.”

 “Alliance shuttles don’t fly that low during search and rescue. It takes too long to cover a large area.”

James looked away and Shepard took the opportunity to drop the flare back into the bag and zip it up. She sat on the bag, watching the shuttle through the trees. James grumbled something under his breath and leaned against a tree near her, arms crossed over his chest. Shepard glanced at him. He glowered at the shuttle, watching it fly back and forth of the valley. He was probably waiting to see if she was wrong and had cost them the chance for rescue.

The shuttle started to ascend the mountain on the other side of the valley when James turned to look at her, his eyes wide with an epiphany.

“They didn’t pick us up on thermal sensors.”

Shepard nodded. “You wouldn’t fly low and slow if you had thermal, and all Alliance S&R shuttles have thermal.”

“Never been in an S&R shuttle,” said James.

“I have.”

James looked at her expectantly but she didn’t elaborate. She continued to watch the shuttle through narrowed eyes until it crested the mountain and disappeared over the other side. She didn’t know exactly who wanted her dead this time, but it was someone with money. Bombs, poisons, and wrecking transports were one thing; having your own Alliance-painted shuttle was another. The long list of people who wanted her head on a platter had gotten significantly shorter.

Shepard stood, confident the shuttle wasn’t going to come back. James had already started to clip and buckle his armour into place, so Shepard packed the blankets and sleeping bag away. In less than two minutes, they were underway, Shepard leading their trek southeast.

The mountains across the valley looked like craggy green faces underneath white helmets. Shepard couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be for someone to be hiding over there, watching through thermal binoculars and testing the wind for a sniper shot or a rocket launcher. She doubted that’s what was happening, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it was. The crazier assassins liked cat-and-mouse games.

The sun climbed higher until it was finally overhead. Sunlight speared through the trees, melting patches of frost and warming her whenever she passed underneath the rays. What pleasure she should have felt from walking in such beautiful surroundings was drowned out by her worrying over rations and shelter.

“We should move closer to the river,” said James, interrupting the silence.

Shepard didn’t even slow down. “Why? We’re already following it.”

“Emergency cabins.”

“What makes you think there’ll be any near the river?”

“Water is one of the first things people look for. There’ll be one near water.”

“We’ve been following the river since yesterday afternoon. I haven’t seen a cabin.”

There was a double thud and Shepard looked over her shoulder. James had stopped and dropped the bags to the ground.

“We’ve been too far up this goddamn mountain to see a cabin, Shepard.”

She stopped and turned, her arms crossed and her weight on her back foot. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s probably another seventy klicks to Vancouver in a straight line, but we can’t go in a straight line.” He gestured at the mountain above them and the ones that lined the other side of the valley. “With two of us, we have maybe three days’ worth of rations left. If we cut down on food any more, though, we’ll be lucky to do fifteen klicks a day on this incline. We’d be faster on the flat ground and we’re more likely to find shelter near the river.”

“I don’t like giving up the high ground,” she said, her tone flat.

“I don’t like the idea of dying.” He glared at her, his eyes squinting even more as he stood in a pillar of sunlight. Finally, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose like Anderson did whenever he had to deal with Shepard’s stubbornness.

Shepard continued to watch him, unmoving. When he looked at her again, it was with so much patience that she almost felt bad for arguing with him.

“If the bad guys have shuttles, we don’t have the high ground, no matter where we are. I’ve been through hell since I met you and I still haven’t put in a transfer request because I trust that you won’t get me killed.” He sounded tired. “Trust _me_ for once, Shepard. I’ve been camping with my _tio_ since I was a kid; the river is our best chance for getting out alive.”

She was stunned. She’d assumed he was still following her out of duty. Surely he knew that just one person had more chance at surviving with the emergency bag’s limited rations than two. She’d met more than a few marines who would have left her in the middle of the night by now.

“Okay, we’ll go down to the river.” She waved her arm in a large arc toward the river and bowed slightly, inviting him to take the lead.

His eyebrows shot up almost into his hairline. The tightness around his mouth softened and he gave her smile. She’d never noticed before, but the scar across his lip made his smile adorably lopsided. No, not adorably—interestingly. That was a safer word.

“Every time you open your mouth, I never know what Shepard I’m going to get,” he said, picking the bags up again.

“I like keeping you on your toes. Just one question, though: What’s a _tio_?”


	9. Chapter 9

James had spotted the cabin first and Shepard was thankful he hadn’t rubbed it in her face that he was right. Instead, he stayed well within the treeline with her while they waited to see if anyone was already in the cabin or if it’d been compromised. When the sun sank behind the mountains, throwing the entire valley into darkness, they crept—first James, then Shepard—to the cabin.

The place was tiny, but it was better than sharing a sleeping bag on the hard ground. Shepard let James take inventory of the cabin’s stock and what was left in their bags while she secured the cabin and its surrounds. She wished they’d had perimeter sensors but, apparently, whoever stocked emergency cabins didn’t think they were necessary.

She returned to the cabin after sweeping the area one last time. James had shucked his armour and was walking around in just the black weave of his underarmour. Shepard was glad that she still had things to do to distract her.

“No perimeter sensors or blackout curtains. We’re going to have to be careful with how much light we have in here,” she said, pulling the thin curtains closed. She hung extra blankets over the two small windows in the cabin and stuffed a towel into the crack underneath the door. “No fire either. The smoke is too obvious.”

“Yeah, right. You just want to be so cold I have to sleep with you again.”

Shepard looked over her shoulder at him and laughed sarcastically. He grinned and winked at her, a gesture that would have made her curl her lip in contempt at almost anyone else. Instead, she chuckled and shook her head before continuing her search for places where heat or light could leak out of the cabin.

“What’s there to eat?” she asked once she was satisfied with her work.

He listed all the cans he’d found before offering to cook. Shepard cooked about as well as she danced, so she just shrugged and grabbed some plates and cutlery. A pair of roughly hewn chairs stood next to a mismatched wooden table near the stove. She placed the plates and utensils on the table and curled up on one of the chairs.

The fire from the portable gas stove heated the tiny cabin just enough to make it bearable. She watched James’s broad back as he inspected a little rack of vacuum-sealed spices. For an emergency cabin, this place was very well-stocked. Soon, the smell of food chased away the scents of must and pine inside the cabin. Shepard’s stomach grumbled.

James’s hands flew over the ingredients, tipping stuff into a saucepan, tasting, then tipping more stuff in. She was surprised that James could cook at all. On the ship, he’d always elected to eat whatever food was already made, no matter how bad it looked. She wondered where he’d learnt to cook. Maybe that’s what was so classified in his files that she wasn’t allowed to read—he was actually a mess sergeant.

The tick of James turning off the gas stove snapped her out of her musings. Shepard tore her gaze from him so he wouldn’t catch her staring.

“Dinner is served,” he said, placing a steaming saucepan on the table and sitting in the chair opposite her. “ _Arroz con pollo_ —basically chicken and rice—only crap because of all this canned stuff and no saffron.”

Shepard spooned some of the meal onto her plate. It smelled delicious. More delicious than the gourmet pre-packaged meals she’d bought for the Normandy. More delicious than Gardner’s food even, once she’d gotten him some proper ingredients. But she’d had things that smelled delicious and tasted awful before.

One tiny, hesitant bite, and her eyes widened in astonished pleasure.

“Holy crap, this is awesome,” she said around her mouthful of food.

She practically inhaled the rest of her plate and went back for seconds. If he thought he’d made enough for leftovers in the morning, he was wrong. Shepard could out-eat anyone.

James didn’t complain as she polished off her second plate and asked to eat the rest of what was in the saucepan. Surely he was being polite because no one that big could be content with just one plate. She abandoned her plate, picking the saucepan up and eating straight from it.

Once she was satisfied that not one grain of rice was wasted, she set the saucepan back on the table and leaned back in her chair. She patted her stomach, content and sleepy. James had his arms crossed over his chest and was watching her with a bemused look on his face.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He jerked up out of his chair and went to retrieve his utility belt. He opened one of the pockets and pulled out a little package, which he tossed at her. “Happy birthday.”

She caught it before it whizzed over her shoulder. She always forgot her birthday. Last year, Garrus had thrown her a surprise party on the SR-2. She remembered the first two hours of it; after that, everything was very fuzzy. It was Kasumi’s fault. The year before that… well, there was no year before that. Perhaps Miranda took a break from bringing Shepard back to life that day, but she doubted it. Miranda didn’t even celebrate her own birthday.

Shepard looked down at the package and her lips parted in surprise. She wasn’t used to receiving gifts, but when she did, they were usually weapon mods, not chocolate. And these chocolates were the real deal, not the synthetic kind that tasted more like sugar and flavouring.

“Why do you know it’s my birthday?” she asked, the soft smile on her face making her words less accusatory. He shrugged, but Shepard thought she could see a faint tint to his ears. She decided it didn’t matter why he knew her birthday. “But, more importantly, where’d you get these?”

“Hidden in the back of a cupboard in the mess,” he said, taking a seat again and pointedly not answering her first question. “I think they were from before you turned the Normandy over—they didn’t have a name or any threats on them.”

Shepard unwrapped the package like she was about to set eyes on a lost holy relic. She held one round chocolate ball up, inspecting it in the light, then popped it into her mouth. Silky sweetness coated her tongue before it was smothered in the velvety bitterness of dark chocolate. Her eyes slipped closed as she let the chocolate sit on her tongue, letting the heat of her own mouth melt it so she could savour the taste for the longest time possible. She might or might not have made a little noise of pleasure—she was too wrapped up in the flavour to notice anything else.

When she opened her eyes again, James’s gaze was fixed on her. His moss-green eyes had a dark intensity to them that she hadn’t seen before.

“Want one?” she asked, picking up one of the chocolate balls and holding it out to him between thumb and forefinger.

He stared at the chocolate and she waved it impatiently when he didn’t immediately take it from her. She rolled her eyes and started to withdraw when he caught her wrist with his hand like he had in the medbay. Her mouth went dry when he tugged her forward, lifting her out of her seat. Her free hand scrambled to brace her weight on the table. He wrapped his lips around the chocolate and the ends of her fingers.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

She should feel disgusted, but she just gawked at him. The room seemed infinitely hotter, and she was sure there was a flush to her face. If her brain were working properly, perhaps she’d be embarrassed or angry, but instead she was wondering just how hot that mouth would feel against other parts of her skin.

James licked the last of the chocolate from her fingers before he let go of her wrist. It took her a second to gather enough sensibility to snatch her hand back and sit down again.

“Next time, use your hands.” She was thankful that her voice didn’t come out all breathy, like in those vids where the heroine’s been swept off her feet.

“Not as fun, _chica_ ,” he said and sat back with a self-satisfied grin on his face.

Shepard gave him a sardonic smile and wrapped the other two chocolates back up again. That was the last time she’d share anything with him.

“Since you’re in such a good mood, you can take first watch,” she said as she stood.

She stalked over to the bed against the wall. Just one bed. It was like the fates were mocking her, except she was a step ahead since this time it wasn’t so cold they needed to share.

She shucked her jacket and her shoes and collapsed into the bed in her undershirt and dress pants. She snuggled into the dusty blankets, her back to the rest of the room. This camaraderie with James was getting complicated, and she could already see the disastrous place it might lead to. What worried her more was there were times when she didn’t want to stop it.

“James?” He hummed an acknowledgement when she didn’t immediately continue. “I usually don’t celebrate my birthday, but, thanks.”

“ _De nada,_ _bonita_.”

He really needed to stop speaking Spanish at her. She didn’t understand a word of it without her translator.

***

Shepard woke to James shaking her shoulder. She sat up, the blankets falling off her, and shivered. No amount of stuffing cracks with towels and hanging blankets over the windows was going to keep the warmth in. Shepard decided she hated cabins.

She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked up at him. She must have fallen asleep quickly earlier—he had his armour back on and she hadn’t remembered him doing that.

“Your turn. I’m cold and tired,” said James.

He reeked of pine and the smell lingered even as he walked away to the table. Shepard didn’t like the idea of having to be outside for the next few hours without climate-controlling armour. She had no choice, though. Keeping watch from inside the cabin was like keeping watch from inside a sealed box.

She crawled out of bed, face wrinkled up in reluctance. At least the cabin had a small stock of heat pads. Unwrapped and underneath her clothes, they’d provide heat for a few hours. She retrieved them from a box and stuck a few of them on her undershirt before putting her jacket on.

“Take the AR,” he said as he placed his weapons on the table.

Shepard took the few steps to the table, standing beside him as he started to undo the clips and buckles of his armour. She picked up the rifle. The sensors recognised hands and the gun unfolded to its full size.

“The Vindicator isn’t Alliance standard issue,” she said, looking down the sight.

“Yeah, I hate the Avenger. Omega sells the Vindicator for cheap, if you know where to go.”

“Why were you on Omega anyway?”

There was a pause in his movements. Shepard watched him out of the corner of her eye, acting like she was completely focused on inspecting the rifle. He stared at the table but looked like he was seeing memories that haunted him rather than the splinter-filled surface.

“On leave,” he said finally.

“I can think of better places to go for leave,” she said, as if she hadn’t noticed his pause or the dead tone of his voice that signalled he was done talking about Omega. “I’ll be back in about six hours. I want to get moving again early.”

James nodded and Shepard grabbed a thick blanket before walking out of the cabin. She wedged the rifle and the blanket under her arm as she strapped an archaic analogue watch she’d found in the cabin to her wrist. She checked the time. Just past two in the morning. It was going to be a long night.

She found a climbable tree and perched herself halfway up it, swathed in a blanket. She stuck her hands between her legs, trying to keep them warm. It wouldn’t do to have frozen fingers if she needed to use the rifle.

The sounds of a forest at night resumed as Shepard settled into place. She wished she didn’t have to be here. The radio in the cabin was so tempting. She desperately wanted to run inside and send out an emergency broadcast, but seeing the fake Alliance shuttle this morning had spooked both of them. If she had full gear, she would have done it, and waited to see who showed up. She was no stranger to setting traps.

Shepard stared up at the sky, thoughts flitting through her head as she tried to pass the time without doing anything. Her mind kept returning to what happened tonight. Her fingers that had been against his tongue would tingle at the memory, and she’d have to rub them to get rid of the sensation. She mentally kicked herself for not pulling away sooner. She must have looked like a varren in heat. If James had continued to be provocative, she could have nipped this fascination in the bud by telling him nothing was going to happen. Instead, he went right back to being light-hearted, and that had thrown her yet again.

She rubbed her face, frustrated with her traitorous body for responding to him and frustrated with James for being so unpredictable.

There was a sudden silence that rolled over her and she frowned, senses on alert. The forest was never silent unless people were in it—she’d learnt that over the past two days—but she could see the cabin from here and James hadn’t walked out.

She moved her head slowly, sweeping the darkness below her. Somewhere to her left, there was the crack of a breaking branch, and then a silence so heavy that she knew someone was trying to pretend they hadn’t made a sound at all. For a few minutes, there was nothing, then, one by one, shadows detached themselves from the trees and headed for the cabin.

Moonlight glinted off metal and Shepard’s eyes narrowed. Not Alliance. There were batarians in the mix—she could tell from the distended helmets. Her biotics coiled around her nodes and she gripped the rifle, a small smile curving her lips.


	10. Chapter 10

James couldn’t sleep. The bed was still warm from Shepard’s body when he crawled in, and the must and pine scent on the sheets had been smothered by the smell of her. To anyone else, it might have just smelled smoky, but James could pick out her scent and it drove him insane.

He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He’d done a stupid thing tonight. He’d spent all of his watch outside not thinking about The Chocolate Incident, but now that he was back in the cabin and sleep eluded him, he couldn’t help it. He knew chocolate tasted good, but the way Shepard ate it was like watching her do something far more carnal than eating. It didn’t matter that he’d already labelled her off-limits. In that one moment, his brain had stopped functioning and he was propelled purely by desire.

If he closed his eyes, he could recall every vivid detail. The soft skin of her wrist. Her short nails pressing into his chin. The unmistakable flush on her cheeks. How her tongue darted out to wet her parted lips. Her green eyes almost black as she stared at his mouth. Most of all, the way she never protested, even after she pulled away and told him to use his hands next time.

The only thing he couldn’t remember was what the chocolate had tasted like.

His guilty hands had crept down his stomach, but he pulled them away before they could go lower. He was thankful Shepard wasn’t around to see the effect she had on him while he was wearing his underarmour, which hid nothing.

With a growl of frustration, he threw the covers off and got out of bed. He needed to tire himself out, and since the most obvious way was not a good idea, he dropped to the floor and started doing push ups. He lost count how many he did, but when his muscles started to burn, he flipped over and cycled through all the different crunches he knew.

What he wouldn’t give for a punching bag. Or maybe some cerveza. Or, better yet, a woman who wasn’t off-limits. He was supposed to be Shepard’s guard, and guards weren’t supposed to do inappropriate things with their charges. When she got reinstated—and he had no doubt that she would—then regs would make things even more complicated. Regs were very clear on fraternisation.

Plus, she was Commander Shepard. As much as he wanted to say Shepard was just like any other marine he’d met, he didn’t believe it. Hell, he still had his stupid Normandy pin in one of the pockets of his utility belt. He should get rid of it before she saw it. She’d probably laugh at him just because she was an asshole. Asshole or not though, she was a legend; legends didn’t do lieutenants.

With one last crunch, he collapsed onto his back, muscles sweetly aching. The underarmour absorbed the sweat on his body, helping to cool him, and his rapidly-beating heart started to slow as he lay on the floor. Sleep was nudging him, telling him to finally get in bed, and he closed his eyes. He’d get up in a second.

Starting now, he’d keep her at arm’s length. He’d focus on other things until they got to Vancouver. Maybe he just needed to get laid. Yeah, that made sense. He’d just ignore anything nice Shepard did, concentrate on the many rude or annoying things she did, and go back to hating her. He supposed he could try being buddies, but he didn’t think he could pull it off. So far, it’d been too easy to slip from being friendly to wanting more.

A creak.

James’s eyes snapped open.

He was still alone in the cabin. The noise was from outside. He strained his hearing. Rustling; the clink of metal on metal; the click of someone loading a new heatsink.

He rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled silently to the table. His deft fingers clipped his chest and back pieces into place before he slipped his helmet on. He was glad he’d been lugging the bulky thing around now. He couldn’t help feeling a little stupid wearing only half his armour, though. He had some very important bits below that he wanted to keep intact.

He pulled his boots on and grabbed the rest of the armour pieces and his Eviscerator off the table. James flipped the table on its side as quietly as possible, and positioned himself behind it. He quickly checked over his shotgun and turned his omnitool on. Shepard would probably bitch at him for going online, but they’d already been found. This way he’d at least have his systems fully operational.

There was another creak, then a yawning silence that James recognised as people waiting for orders. How they’d gotten past Shepard… wait… was she using him as bait? _Hijo de pu-_ he was going to kill her. Slowly.

The door burst open and smoke grenades rolled in. James grimaced, pressing a button to close the faceguard and turn the helmet into a breather unit. With the faceguard closed, he switched the HUD to thermal. Two bogeys either side of the door, probably waiting for someone to run out or start shooting.

James obliged. He lined up a shot just as one of them stuck his head around the corner. The Eviscerator lived up to its name, and the intruder dropped to the ground, helmet smashed and face half-gone.

A garbled yell gave James another target and he let off another round. It didn’t hit the enemy, but a second later the body fell to the ground, twitching atop the dead body of the one James had shot.

“About time, Shepard,” he grumbled, rolling out of the cover of the table and running to the door.

He pressed himself up against the wall, pushing a few buttons on his omnitool to optimise his helmet for night fighting. Gunfire filtered through his helmet. Judging by the variances in loudness and three-round bursts of the gunfire outside, his HUD estimated at least seven bogeys were left outside. With Shepard offline, his HUD couldn’t distinguish red from blue, so he subtracted one from that number. At least six bogeys.

James did a quick headcheck outside. Shepard was lit up like a ghost in the night. A blue ball shot out in the opposite direction she was firing and hung in mid-air a few metres to James’s left, pulling two soldiers off their feet. James fixed his sights on them. One, two, three rounds. The singularity disappeared and the bodies fell to the ground, unmoving.

Two of at least six down.

No one was focusing on him so he discharged his fortification, sending it to his gauntlets. He charged out, slamming into the side of a bogey. The discharge from his armour knocked the enemy to the ground, but the enemy’s safety was off. The gun fired randomly, hitting James’s shields. One round pierced through to graze his side. He swore and emptied two rounds into the enemy. Ducking for cover behind a nearby tree, he touched his side and hissed at the pain. He’d had worse, though. His armour applied medigel to his system, erasing the pain for now.

“Get back to the shuttle!” The voice was too guttural for a human. Batarian, probably.

“No!” Shepard’s yell cut through the gunfire, and James stole a look around the tree.

She sprinted toward the person who’d called the retreat. The rifle took down the batarian’s shields and he doubled over. Shepard was on him in seconds, a blue corona around her fist, and she punched him. The batarian flew backward from the force of the biotics and the punch. James winced. Even with the mass effect field, there was no way Shepard’s hand wasn’t damaged.

A different batarian ran past James without any care for watching his six. James fired off two rounds. The batarian fell to the ground and James unloaded one more round into them, just to make sure they were dead.

“James! Follow them!”

He didn’t think. He ran after the two shadows moving through the trees.

Neither of the bogeys were ducking and weaving or firing off shots at James and Shepard. A blue ball shot past him, and he swore as he felt the faint tug of a lift field. One of the attackers got caught in it instead, and James haphazardly shot once at the floating body as he passed by. Shepard could deal with the lifted bogey, if they were still alive. There was one shadow left, and James was gaining ground.

His lungs burned, his legs wanted to fall off, but adrenaline kept him going. The last attacker looked behind him. James couldn’t see past the helmet, but he would bet there was fear there. Looking behind was stupid, though. The soldier ran into a low-hanging branch and fell onto his back. James would have laughed if he wasn’t so focused on reaching the soldier before he got up again.

The soldier scrambled to his hands and knees, but James was faster. He kicked the soldier in the stomach. The soldier cried out and curled up, coughing. James rolled the solider over with his boot, shotgun trained on the soldier’s head—human, male—then James dropped his knee onto the soldier’s chest.

He touched the button on the side of his helmet and the HUD flickered off, the faceguard folding back so he could breathe normally.

“You say anything, and I’ll shoot you in the _cojones_. You can’t die from that, but I bet you don’t want to lose them either,” said James.

With the battle behind him and only one soldier left, he could see now that these were mercs, and not very good ones. The merc’s armour was scuffed to hell. The rifle a metre away was an out-dated Avenger. Hell, that helmet the guy had wasn’t even the same colour as the armour.

Shepard finally ran up to them, her limp back and one of her hands flexing, as if she were testing how injured it was. She still glowed blue. It was beautiful. He mentally smacked the thought from his head.

“Tell whoever’s at your shuttle that you’re on the way with prisoners and your commlinks are fried by a disruptor grenade we threw.” The soldier didn’t move or say anything. “Did you kill him, James?”

“No! Why would I be kneeling on him like this if he were dead? To steal his crappy gear? I just told him I’d shoot his balls off if he spoke.” He waved at the soldier’s crotch with his shotgun.

The soldier whimpered.

Shepard sighed, running a hand through her hair, and looked from James to the merc. “He’s not going to shoot you so long as you don’t fight. Talk.”

“If I tell them what you said, will you let me live, ma’am?” asked the merc, his voice breaking in the middle of his sentence.

Maybe the testie-pop was from fear, but James knew the difference between fear and adolescence. James checked the side of the soldier’s helmet for a button that would slide the faceplate back. He found it and a wide-eyed, pimply face looked up at them.

“You’re definitely not old enough for this, _chico_ ,” said James.

Now he felt bad for kicking the kid in the stomach. He didn’t stand, but he relax the pressure on the kid’s chest.

Shepard bent down, taking a closer look at the boy. “You can’t be older than fourteen.”

“I’m sixteen.” He sounded insulted, but James understood Shepard’s assessment. Looking at the kid’s hollow cheeks and the way the armour didn’t quite fit, James would have guessed the same.

Shepard gave a ‘we don’t have time for this’ huff and stood up straight again, waving her hand at the kid. It was a testament to just how wary Shepard was that, even though the boy wasn’t a threat, she still kept her rifle trained on him and her barrier up.

“You tell them what I told you to say, and I’ll let you live.”

The boy nodded and wedged his finger between the helmet and the comm unit in his ear. He repeated what Shepard said, verbatim, and nodded up at them when he got a reply.

Shepard motioned for James to get off the boy. He helped the kid up while Shepard picked up the Avenger. She looked it over before tossing it back to the ground. She’d obviously come to the same conclusion that James did—worthless. James nudged the boy to walk in front of them.

“Injuries?” he asked Shepard when they were underway.

“I’m fine.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” He knew he shouldn’t rip into her with the kid nearby but she was so infuriating when she wouldn’t even answer a simple question. “I already know the great Commander Shepard can get injured. You’re not breaking any illusions here.”

“Knee, hand, shoulder, bullet graze on left outer thigh. I can walk, therefore I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

He almost threw up his hands in frustration. “Was that so hard?”

She didn’t answer and he shook his head, sighing. If she was going to act like this all the time, it was going to be pretty easy to focus on her bad points and go back to hating her.

The shuttle was apparently only two klicks away, but the boy stopped well before they got to the shuttle. He put his hands up and turned to look at them with the most mournful eyes James had ever seen on a scrawny teen.

“The two others… at the shuttle… they’re slaves too, ma’am, sir.” His voice shook. “They don’t want to be here either. Don’t kill them. Please.”

James let out a string of swears.

Shepard didn’t say anything but when he looked at her, she was staring intently at the boy, her eyes narrowed. Her chest expanded then deflated in a big breath. James knew by now that it was sign of Shepard trying to calm herself. He’d been the reason for this calming technique before.

When she spoke again, it was with a chilliness that James wasn’t expecting. “You go out first, alone, and tell them to throw their weapons into the forest and spread themselves on the ground. If any of you get in the shuttle, I’ll shoot it down. If any of you attack us, I’ll rip you apart.”

That was cold. James was on the verge of taking the kid to his _abuela’s_ for some fattening up, not killing him.

The boy nodded so vigorously he might have flown away from the flapping of his chin. He turned and continued walking. James glanced at Shepard. She had her eyes fixed on the boy, her eyebrows knitted tight together. He hated slavers as much as the next person, but Shepard’s reaction was beyond that. He wished he’d gotten his hands on Shepard’s file.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked.

“Lucas, sir. Lucas Hornby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>  by [toxichedgie](http://hedgehawke.tumblr.com)  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

James’s head spun to look at Shepard. Her face was completely blank.

“Interesting name,” he said when it was obvious Shepard wasn’t going to say or do anything.

When they reached a small clearing by the river, Shepard and James stayed in the shadows while the boy walked out to the two people leaning against the shuttle. James opened his mouth to ask about the name, but Shepard held her hand up. He turned his attention back to the boy just as the two people at the shuttle hurled their weapons into the forest and dropped to the ground. The boy followed suit, and James brought his HUD up, thermal sensors on.

“Nothing but the shuttle and the slaves,” he said.

Shepard nodded and stood. He followed her out. In the light that spilled out of the shuttle, he saw the faces of kids no older than Lucas.

“How many of you back there where kids?” asked Shepard, her voice tight as she motioned her head back the way they’d come.

“We’re the youngest. I’m a scout,” said Lucas, looking up from the ground. “These two are younger than me, so they just guard the shuttle.”

The other two were silent as Lucas spoke, but one of them, a girl, was shaking. She sniffled, and James gritted his teeth. He couldn’t handle crying girls, especially not when he wanted to find some slavers and beat them to death with his bare hands. The other kid, a boy with the same dark hair as the girl, reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Get up. We’re taking you to an Alliance base in Vancouver,” said Shepard before turning to James. She had her commander voice and commander face on, but in the light from the shuttle, he could see the fury and sorrow underneath. “Can you fly a shuttle?”

“Might not be the smoothest ride, but yeah,” said James with a shrug.

Shepard nodded for him to get in the shuttle before herding the kids in after him.

James sat in the cockpit, strapping himself into his harness and turning everything on. The Kodiak was as old as the one he’d practiced on when he first joined the Alliance. For one thing, it still had some physical switches. He found the switch for the door and, looking over his shoulder, did a headcount before closing it. The shuttle jerked to life, and Shepard came to sit in the co-pilot’s chair.

“Head for Vancouver. We’ll retrieve what we’ve left in the cabin later,” she said, her voice pitched low so the kids in the main cabin couldn’t hear. “The kids will have control chips in their skulls.”

James brought up the navigation panel and plotted a course to Vancouver.

“We’ll be there in about an hour,” he said, pressing a few more buttons to stabilise the shuttle as they ascended. “What exactly do the chips do? Do they actually control the kids? Will they attack us or something?”

James didn’t really know what slavers did to their slaves. He had never rescued any before. He’d gotten into skirmishes with slavers out in the Traverse, but they’d been small bands who’d quickly retreated when they were confronted with real marines.

“The control chips send out electric pulses at higher voltages than the brain is capable of handling. Leave it on for long enough, and the brain cooks.” James looked at Shepard, his face screwed up in disgust and shock. “The signal range is immense. Their master could be orbiting Earth and still activate the chips.”

James turned back to the console and pressed a few more buttons. The shuttle jerked again and the speedometer crept upwards as he pushed the shuttle into overdrive. It was going to ruin the old Kodiak, but James didn’t care. He didn’t want to see anyone die from a cooked brain.

***

Shepard hated how much time she’d spent with doctors over the past two weeks. Perhaps the only consolation this time was that she’d been given more clues as to who was after her. Batarians and slaves—if it wasn’t the Hegemony looking for retribution, it was one of the syndicates. One of the few powerful syndicates too, judging by the fake Alliance shuttles and an assassin planted on the Normandy. Who the assassin was niggled at her the most. Her gut told her who it was, but her head couldn’t pinpoint why she felt that way.

With her bandaged hand, she shooed away the doctor trying to stick yet another needle into her. She needed to get out of the Vancouver base’s hospital and find Anderson. She needed information.

“Please, doctor, I’m fine.” She sat up and reached for her dirty dress pants from the end of her bed.

“She’s afraid of needles,” said James from the next bed.

Shepard glared at him. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, underarmour stripped to his waist to expose a wound on his side and a bruise that ran from his shoulder down his bicep. None of his injuries looked too bad, but James made a show of wincing as a pretty nurse fussed over him.

Since he’d called her out on her fear of needles, she’d have to endure this one out of pride.

She sighed and waved for the doctor to continue as she reclined back against the bed. She tried to count the textured panels on the ceiling to divert her attention from the needle going into her knee, but James was too distracting.

Listening to him flirt and the nurse coo was putting her nerves on edge more than the needle. She rubbed her hand absently against her thigh. She wanted to jump into a scalding hot shower with some steel wool and scrub herself clean—not just of the grime from the past two days, but also of the memory of James’s touch. She shouldn’t be surprised that his attention was so easily caught by a pretty face.

The doctor finished and she hopped off the bed, grabbing her pants and pulling them back on. Her knee still had that twinge to it, but whatever the doctor had injected had taken the edge off.

“You can’t leave without me,” said James as she started for the door.

She didn’t bother looking back, let alone replying.

He said something in Spanish and, by his tone, it wasn’t flattering. The door slid closed behind her and cut him off. She walked quickly down the hall and out the hospital, stopping to look for a building that looked like Command.

Morning sun reflected off a tall building that seemed to be made of glass windows. It stood out amongst the squatter buildings around it. She snorted and walked toward the buolding. Of course the Alliance would make such an impractical building their Command. Earth could never be attacked; why make a megatropolis’s military HQ easily defensible?

When she entered the atrium of the building, the guards wouldn’t let her past the doors to the elevators, but her namedropping did allow her to send a message to Anderson. She took a seat, stretching her legs out and leaning her head back against the wall. People streamed past her, some staring and whispering that she was _The_ Commander Shepard.

“What the hell, Shepard?” said James. His breathing was heavier than normal. He must have jogged over.

“I’m waiting for Anderson.”

“I meant what the hell are you doing walking off without me?”

“I thought it best I leave you in the nurse’s capable hands.”

“Are you jealous?” he asked, incredulity in his voice.

Shepard rolled her eyes, flopping her head forward enough to look at him. He’d abandoned his underarmour and was wearing a borrowed standard issue shirt and pants tucked into his muddy boots. Maybe she should have asked for some new clothes too while in the medbay.

 “Wow. I don’t even know how you got in the door with an ego that large,” she said, her expression as bored as her tone.

“Commander Shepard?” She turned her attention from James to the guard and smiled. “Admiral Anderson wants to see you. Through the doors and left to the elevator. Level fifty-eight. ”

Shepard stood and brushed past James. The guards saluted her even though they knew she no longer had rank. James followed her, but the guards stopped him, asking for his pass. Shepard stopped too, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot, as James let one of the guards scan his omnitool.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, you don’t have access to that level.” James looked at Shepard pointedly, and the guard looked from Shepard to him and back to her again. “Unless, Commander, he has business with you and Admiral Anderson?”

Shepard, cocked her head to side in thought, then shrugged and turned away. “Nope.”

James yelled her to stop kidding around as the glass doors separating the atrium from the rest of the building slid open. She kept walking. She had to stop herself from looking back and savouring his expression, though.

She punched the button for level fifty-eight. At first, the elevator beeped a warning and refused to move, but after the scanner ran over her a second time, it jerked to life. She leaned against the elevator’s glass wall and stared out over Vancouver. The city spread out before her; high rise buildings and greenery under a clear, blue sky as far as she could see. So perfect, so sterile—like the Citadel.

When the doors opened again, Anderson was already there, waiting.

“Where’s Lieutenant Vega?”

“Downstairs swearing about not having clearance,” she said, stepping off the elevator.

Anderson’s eyebrow rose but underneath his chagrined expression, she could see amusement. He motioned for her to follow him before tapping a few commands into his omnitool. No doubt he was allowing James access.

“I thought you two had started to get along,” he said as he led her down the hall.

“He’s an insubordinate pain in the ass.”

“Sounds familiar.” There was laughter in his voice.

Anderson unlocked the door to his office and ushered her in. She brushed by him, making a beeline for one of the armchairs at Anderson’s desk.

“This place is as cushy as your old Councillor office,” she said, wiggling into the plush chair and running her hand over the leather armrest. “Maybe I should become an Admiral one day.”

“You’d hate it—too much paperwork.”

Shepard wrinkled her nose. “Maybe I’ll just retire.”

“You living day-to-day without a gun attached to your back? I’d like to see that.”

“Oh, I’ll have a shooting range, and maybe once in a while I’d go clean up the Terminus Systems.”

“Another Archangel?”

The mention of Garrus made Shepard smile, even though Anderson likely didn’t know the turian’s secret identity.

It felt like months, not weeks, since she last pretended to press buttons at Garrus’s console when he was tinkering with the electronics. No matter how many times she played the trick, he’d rush over panicking about what she might have changed.

“Yes, like Archangel. But with a less dramatic name,” she said. Her smile faded and her expression turned sombre. “I came to ask you a favour. I know what I’m up against now. It’s not the killers I have to worry about, it’s the brains behind them. Put me in a safe house and leak the info-”

The door to the office whooshed open. From the cadence of the heavy footsteps, she knew it was James.

“Thanks for the support downstairs, Shepard,” said James, glaring at her after he sat in the chair next to her.

“Alliance security can’t be compromised, Lieutenant.” She dismissed James with a tilt of her head and looked back at Anderson. “So?”

“It’d take weeks to authorise and assemble a squad to watch the safe house while we wait for an attack.”

“I don’t need a squad, Anderson,” she said, sitting up straight and leaning forward in her seat. “Just give me my armour and my weapons.”

“Uh… what’s going on?” asked James.

Shepard opened her mouth to say something disparaging, but shut it when Anderson shot her a warning look. He must have read the intent on her face. Her old CO knew her too well.

“Shepard wants to set up a sting operation—put her in a safe house, leak the information, then see who comes after her.”

“That’s not a plan.” James looked from her to Anderson like they were both insane. “Admiral, you can’t seriously give her clearance for something so _loco_. The next assassin or group of mercs might be damn good ones.”

Shepard raised her voice to drown out James’s argument before Anderson could respond. “I think the assassin was Corporal Lucas Hornby.”


	12. Chapter 12

James stared at Shepard, mouth hanging open. You couldn’t just throw out a revelation like that without explaining it.

Anderson looked less surprised. He leaned forward, searching through the piles of datapads on his desk.

“Someone got to the crash site before us. The wreckage was destroyed by explosions and chemical corrosion.” He picked up one of the datapads and passed it to Shepard. “No dogtags were found and what body parts we recovered were too damaged to return positive identification, although they did indicate there were three bodies in the wreckage.”

Okay, fine, if Anderson was going to go along with Shepard’s insanity, then James supposed he would too.

 “If someone in that shuttle was the assassin, whoever got there before the Alliance could have retrieved them and replaced their body with another,” said James, frowning in thought. “Why go through all that trouble for a body? Mismatched records? Clues that could lead us to the boss?”

 “Maybe he’s not dead,” said Shepard, and handed the datapad to James.

James glanced down at the datapad but the few words he caught were technical jargon he didn’t understand. He placed the datapad back on Anderson’s desk.

“That shuttle blew up in front of our eyes. No way anyone survived that,” he said.

“He doesn’t need to be uninjured, just alive.”

“Okay, but _why_?” James glanced at Anderson, looking for some input, but he was simply listening to James and Shepard’s back and forth. “There are a thousand other assassins out there and a million more mercs who’ll take on an assassination job.”

Shepard sat back in her seat again and chewed on her bottom lip, brows knitted together. James watched her expectantly. She still hadn’t explained why she thought Corporal Hornby was the assassin or why she thought he was still alive.

“Because it’s personal.” She glanced at James before looking at Anderson. She had an anxious expression on her face, like she didn’t want to say something but had to. “I think Corporal Hornby is really Aaron.”

It took James a second to remember where he’d heard that name before. “The kid who was taken by slavers?”

Anderson’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, gaze moving from James to Shepard. She looked chagrined, mixed with a little bit of embarrassment. James wanted to know what the hell their silent conversation was about, but already knew Shepard wouldn’t explain the full story to him. Her trust issues were starting to grate.

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” she said. James remembered everything Shepard told him. She transferred her attention back to Anderson. “He has the same features, he’s about the same age, and he even has some of the same mannerisms. I told you everyone was dead, but there were so many bodies. I can’t remember if he was one of them.”

James tried to piece together the clues himself. If the corporal was just a boy when he was taken by slavers, it must have been a damn long time ago. Shepard would have been a kid herself… _oh_. Mindoir. The realisation hit him like a dreadnought out of FTL. That she was ‘the lone teenage survivor’ came out with her obituary years ago. He felt like smacking himself in the forehead. Batarians, Shepard’s reaction to the slaves—so obvious.

“If it is him-” Her voice broke and she took a deep breath. “Please, I have to know.”

“You’re clutching at eezo trails, Shepard, but if it is him, then you already know I can’t authorise you going after him,” said Anderson, shaking his head.

 “Conflict of interest, I get it, but the Alliance doesn’t know that.” She rubbed her face in frustration before she stood and braced her hands on Anderson’s desk. “I have to save him. I’m not asking for an admiral’s permission, David. I’m asking for a friend’s help.”

This day was just throwing curveball after curveball at James: Shepard’s resurgent antagonism toward him; Hornby as the assassin; Hornby as someone from Shepard’s past; Shepard sounding like she might cry.  Now, she was begging for help. Shepard never asked for help; he’d learnt that the hard way since he met her.

Anderson sighed and closed his eyes. When he finally looked up, James could already tell he was going to give in. Was there anything Shepard couldn’t talk someone into doing for her?

“I can’t authorise and deploy a squad right now, but I will give you your weapons, your armour, and a safehouse.”

“I’m going too,” said James, standing.

“I don’t need a guard on this,” she said, standing straight and crossing her arms over her chest. “My gut tells me it’s Aaron who’ll be sent after me. One person looks like a soft target, even if it is me.”

“And as soon as you get information on who’s pulling the strings, you’ll go after them without waiting for backup,” said James.

Shepard glared at him. He must have been right. By the look on Anderson’s face, it seemed like the admiral agreed with him.

“Lieutenant Vega will continue to accompany you.” She grimaced. James felt insulted at the reaction; he wasn’t bad in a fight. “I want you to check in every twelve hours and I want you back alive. There are other threats on the horizon. The Alliance doesn’t know it yet, but we need you.”

It seemed like Shepard and Anderson spent half their time talking telepathically. James could only guess at what threats Anderson was talking about, but Shepard nodded as if she understood entirely. He wondered if there’d ever be a day when Shepard didn’t hide things from him. Then, he remembered that he was supposed to be distancing himself from her. Damn. Less than an hour and he’d already forgotten his promise to himself.

Ten minutes later, Shepard and James left Anderson’s office. Her omnitool had been unlocked and activated, and their gear from the Normandy would be sent to their temporary accommodation on base. The gear he’d left at the emergency cabin had already been picked up by another Alliance shuttle. James thanked whoever was watching over him that he didn’t have to share quarters with Shepard.

They walked in strained silence to the elevator, Shepard a step ahead.

“Was Aaron taken on Mindoir?” said James after the doors closed.

Shepard’s head snapped around and James knew he was right. He could see the grief and loss etched alongside anger and surprise. He hadn’t expected to see surprise. She must think he was stupid.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, turning away from him again.

He should have left it at that, but his _tio_ always said he was too bull-headed for his own good. “What do you want to talk about? Because I’m having a really hard time figuring out what I’ve done wrong.”

“Nothing.”

James stalked over to the elevator buttons and slammed his hand against the emergency stop. The elevator jerked to a standstill, stuck between the forty-second and forty-third floors.

He ran an agitated hand through his hair to stop himself from strangling her. “What I wouldn’t give to shoot this glass and throw you out the hole.”

Shepard didn’t move, but she did allow her biotics to flare.  “Try it.”

“I don’t get why you’re back to being a dick again,” he said, voice tight with frustration. Shepard’s biotics dissipated. “Is it the chocolate thing? If it is, I’m sorry. I do stupid things when no one stops me. It runs in my family.”

She stared at him. He shifted his weight from one foot to each other. He couldn’t help fidgeting under her scrutiny but at the same time he didn’t break eye-contact with her. After all this time together, he knew that even if she schooled her features into neutrality, her eyes always gave her emotions away. For the first time ever, she was the first to look away.

“It’s nothing,” she said, voice quiet.

She pushed herself off the wall and pressed the button. The elevator started moving again. James stepped forward and pushed the button, too. The elevator stopped.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that. I might not know a lot about women, but I know ‘nothing’ has a different meaning in your dictionary than it does in mine.”

“Lumping me into a stereotype isn’t really helping your apology.”

She reached out to press the button again, but James caught her hand in his own. They both froze, searching each other’s faces. Common sense warned him to let go and step away, but his traitorous thumb ran over the callouses of her warm palm.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered.

His gaze flickered down to her lips when she spoke. He wondered what Shepard would do if he kissed her. Would she dominate, like she did with everything else in life? Would she be soft, like in her quiet moments when she thought no one was watching? Maybe she’d throw him across the room, and then add some more scars to his face.

The thought almost sobered him, until he looked back up at Shepard’s eyes. If she was trying to hide her feelings, she was failing miserably. All his rationalisations for not pursuing Shepard melted away under her heated gaze. Nervousness and anticipation made his heart pound in his chest. His other hand reached up, fingers brushing against her unmarred cheek. Her lips parted as she inhaled sharply, head tilting upward. If that wasn’t an invitation, James was an asari.

Their breath mingled as James leaned in. She smelled of toothpaste and fruity energy bars.

The elevator lurched into motion again.

“Scans indicated no abnormalities with the elevator’s systems,” said the VI. “Returning to the atrium for further inspection.”

James jerked away from Shepard, letting go of her. She blinked rapidly, as if waking up from a trance, and then her expression turned mortified. Not the best reaction to be faced with, but he must have looked the same—eyes wide, arms crossed over the chest, and face flushed. They spun away from looking at each other.

The doors opened after what felt like an age and Shepard shot out without a word.

James sighed.

“ _Pendejo_ ,” he said to himself.


	13. Chapter 13

Almost two days later, and Shepard lay on the couch inside the safe house, staring up at the ceiling. She was a doer; she tackled problems head-on with only a cursory thought of consequences. When it came to James, though, she was agonising over the consequences.

She hadn’t said more than five words to him at a time since the elevator. She’d kept her tone brisk and impersonal, as if he were a bureaucrat she had to tolerate. It had been harder to ignore him than she’d anticipated, but James had kept to himself too. He’d smuggled in two six-packs of beer with his gear and spent most of his time out on the porch, pretending to keep watch. When the setting sun forced him back inside, he’d sit in front of the fire with his attention fixed on his omnitool. He was always there if she needed him, but never imposed when she didn’t.

She shook the thoughts from her head. She was getting nowhere.

Shepard swung her legs off the couch and glanced at the empty fireplace. They needed more wood.

With a resigned sigh, she stood and walked out the front door. James reclined on a chair on the porch, his legs crossed and propped up on the railing, an empty bottle of beer on the floor next to him. The door slammed shut behind her and he started, nearly falling out of his chair.

Shepard walked past him and he stood. She waved her hand at him. “Just chopping wood.”

“With your weapons and armour?”

“Precaution, warmth, strength enhancement.”

Over the crunching of her boots on dirt, she heard the creak of him sitting down again and the thump of his feet going back on the railing. She could feel him watching her as she began chopping wood into smaller pieces. When she had enough to keep the fire going for the rest of the afternoon and into the night, she gathered it up and walked back to the cabin.

James had his arms behind his head and was staring out at the trees like they were far more interesting than Shepard. She wanted to kick his chair over.

The door slammed shut behind her again. Now, she’d have to figure out how to light the fire. James had always done it, and she’d never bothered to watch. Fireplaces were for people who lived in houses. Shepard had only lived in prefab units, the barracks, and ships.

She dumped some logs into the fireplace and pulled some kindling out of a box next to it. After placing the the kindling under the logs, she lit it and sat back on her haunches, pleased with herself… Until smoke started to fill the cabin. She covered her mouth with her arm and rushed to the sink. She filled a bowl with water, coughing all the while. Running back to the fireplace, she dumped the water onto the smouldering wood. The fire died with a sizzle.

She waved her hands in front of her, trying to get the smoke to dissipate. It was no use. She was going to have to go outside, embarrassed and annoyed, with smoke trailing behind her.

Shepard plodded to the front door and opened it. She flapped her hands, trying to push the smoke out the door.

“You don’t know how to start a fire, do you?” He turned to look at her with a smug expression. Oh, _now_ he wanted to show some emotion.

“You do it then,” she said, glaring. She tried to suppress the cough that was threatening to ruin her glare. She failed.

“Drink something warm. It’ll help your throat,” he said as he stood. He picked up his chair and propped the door open with it.

“I know how to recover from smoke inhalation.”

She followed him into the cabin and went to the kitchenette, filling up the electric kettle and turning it on. She made more noise than necessary looking for a mug and some hot chocolate. Before the almost-kiss in the elevator, he would have matched her irritation with his own. His patient helpfulness threw her off-balance.

“You see this?” Shepard looked at James, who had his back to her but was holding up a brown block. She kept silent and James continued. “It’s a starter block. You light it first and hot air fills the firebox so the draft goes up into the chimney, instead of the cold air pushing the draft down the chimney and filling the whole cabin with smoke when you try to light a fire in a cold fireplace.”

She resisted the childish urge to argue that the fireplace didn’t come with instructions.

By the time James got the fire going, the smoke had cleared and she’d shut the door. The cabin still smelled like smoke, though. She was sitting at the little dinner table, hot chocolate in front of her, when James turned from the fire and raised an expectant eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The crackling of the fire and James busying himself in the kitchenette filled up the silence between them. Soon, the smell of cinnamon and apples chased away the smoke. Her stomach grumbled. James had found the apple pie that she’d smuggled in with their supplies. She knew she should have hidden it better.

“Here. Maybe pie will make you feel less stupid,” said James, placing a large plate of steaming pie and a fork in front of her.

Her eyebrows shot up. This had to be a trap.

She narrowed her eyes at him. She picked up the fork and gingerly speared a tiny piece of the pie before touching the tip of her tongue to it, testing it. James sighed and grabbed the fork from her, cutting a chunk of her pie for himself and shovelling it into his mouth. He chomped on it before swallowing and opening his mouth for her to inspect.

Shepard pursed her lips in displeasure. He’d taken almost a quarter of her pie in one bite.

She snatched the fork back from him and began eating. Real apples went into this pie; she could tell the difference after so long on reconstituted stuff. She ate in silence. James sat across the table from her, watching and distracting her from savouring her first real apple pie since she’d been awarded her N6 badge at the Villa.

“Stop staring,” she said, looking up from the pie. “You want to talk, don’t you? That’s what you’ve been oh-so-patiently waiting for. Fine, we’ll talk. After all, I’m an adult, and you’re an adult—sometimes.”

“This is the first time you talk to me normally in almost three days, and you’re already throwing around insults?”

“That _is_ how I normally talk to you.”

James paused, then shrugged in agreement. “So talk.”

Shepard hadn’t planned on being the first to talk. She’d hoped James would have something to say. He usually had an opinion on everything, whether she asked for it or not. She looked away, chewing her lip as she wondered where to begin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see James watching her expectantly. The silence dragged on as she tried to shuffle her thoughts and feelings into order.

“Okay, I’ll talk.” His voice betrayed his exasperation as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “That day in the elevator, you were being an ass, and things got heated. I almost kissed you, and it was a stupid thing to do. I’m sorry. Again.”

She didn’t want an apology out of him. This wasn’t just about the aborted kiss. It was about ‘the chocolate thing’, as he called it; her irrational anger as his flirting with the nurse; remembering her birthday and giving her a present; the too-comfortable sleeping bag arrangement; the ‘stay with me’ in the medbay after he’d been poisoned. It was weeks of forced company with almost no one but him, and the disturbing realisation that she’d enjoyed most of it. It was knowing what he smelled like, how his footsteps differed from others, what he preferred to eat. It was his body and his voice and, once he’d gotten over his initial hero-worship, the way he seemed to take it in stride that she was judgemental and controlling and incredibly volatile.

No, this was about far more than the attempted kiss.

“You didn’t answer my question the other day,” she said. James quirked an eyebrow, not comprehending. “What do you want from me?”

He looked at her like she was an idiot. “Was that not you in the elevator? Because I thought what I wanted was pretty obvious.”

She frowned at him. “Don’t answer my question with another question. I hate that.”

He sighed and uncrossed his arms to rub the back of his head with one hand. “I’ll do whatever you want, Shepard. I always do whatever you want.”

Apart from that being a bold-faced lie, he was still avoiding the question. “If I told you to leave me alone?”

“I’d do it.”

He looked her straight in the eye, his voice unwavering, and she believed him. She should have nipped this infatuation in the bud with that confirmation, but she never could leave things well enough alone.

“And if I told you I wanted something casual?”

He paused, glancing away, before hastily looking back at her. “I’d do it.”

He was lying. _Now_ , she knew what he wanted, and it terrified her. Nothing made Shepard freeze like being confronted by emotions—her own or someone else’s. Her treacherous need for affection only reared its famished head when she found someone who could put up with her for longer than two minutes at a time.

She’d been standing on this same precipice three years ago, only then it was Kaidan. This wasn’t the Normandy, but the same threats were still there: death, heartache, Reapers, the fate of the galaxy. The wound from that failed relationship was still healing. Was it fair to even contemplate starting something with James? It didn’t seem fair to him. Hell, he probably didn’t know what he was really getting himself into.

“I don’t do casual,” she said. The tension in his body relaxed and relief flitted across his face. “And I come with relay-sized amounts of baggage.”

“I can handle baggage.”

“I’m not just talking about Mindoir.” She knew she should tell him about her unresolved issues with Kaidan, but the words stuck in her throat. “There’s a war coming, James, one that I’m determined to win at any cost. I don’t like starting things that I might not be able to see through.”

“You’re talking about the Reapers, aren’t you?”

The way he said it, like it was a fact that the Reapers were real and they were coming, softened the tension she felt in her face. She was used to people saying ‘Reapers’ like they were fairytale monsters.

She nodded.

“You’re not a weapon, Shepard.” He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table, his penetrating gaze fixed on her. “You’re full of blood and guts and feelings, not targeting matrices and heat sinks. You got a second chance at life, and if you’re convinced you’re going to die soon, then you should live it.”

His words were like a punch to the gut. She’d been on autopilot since Cerberus brought her back, but she hadn’t realised it until now. She’d needed that connection—the one that went beyond friendship. On Horizon, she thought she could have found it again, but Kaidan’s feelings of betrayal had shattered that hope. In the face of the Collectors, she’d buried her own feelings and continued on. She did miss the intimate moments that reminded her of what she should be fighting for, though.

“It feels selfish,” she said. “I’ve seen what happens to the people I leave behind.”

“I’m not a baby, Shepard. I know the consequences of war.”

Shepard’s chair scraped against the wooden floor as she stood. She must be crazy. Or maybe this was the first time in a long time that she could see clearly.

She reached across the table to hook a finger in the neckline of his shirt. His gaze never left hers. She leaned forward, bracing her other hand on the table, and stopped a breath away from his lips. She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat while she searched his face for any doubt, any inclination that this wasn’t truly what he wanted.

“Remember, I warned you: baggage, Reapers, certain death. You should stop me if you want a happily ever after,” she said softly.

He shook his head. “I’d regret walking away.”

Her mouth tugged up at the corners and she pressed her lips against his, her eyes drifting closed. The kiss was chaste—closed-mouthed, delicate, unsure. There was no spark. She was expecting a spark. Perhaps they were making a mistake after all. She started to pull back, but his hand darted up, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of her neck to stop her from leaving. His lips parted and, instinctively, hers did too.

At the first taste of him, she got fireworks.

Her reservations evaporated. She moved her hand from his shirt to his face. Her fingers traced along his stubbly jawline; her thumb brushed against the tapered end of the scar that ran across his cheek and nose. He tasted mostly of apple pie with a hint of beer and something uniquely James. She thought he’d be forceful, perhaps even pull her forward so she’d have to climb onto the table to keep kissing him. Instead, he seemed to be savouring this slow exploration as much as she was.

It could have been days or seconds later when they pulled apart. Her breathing was heavy, and the pounding of her heart was matched by a throbbing need elsewhere. When she opened her eyes again, his hand moved from the back of her neck to her cheek, his thumb running across her moist lips.

“ _Caray, ella es tan bella,_ ” he said, voice huskier than normal.

With her omnitool back on and transmitting to the translator implant in her ear, she could finally understand his Spanish. She smiled. It’d been a while since someone had called her beautiful.

“Compliments will not get you out of first watch tonight,” she said, her lips brushing against his thumb.

He chuckled and planted a kiss on the end of her nose before dropping his hand from her face. The cute gesture made her eyebrows shoot up, her eyes going round, and her mouth dropped open.

“Compliments and a kiss will distract you from this, though,” he said, and shovelled her last piece of pie into his mouth.


	14. Chapter 14

James sat on the couch in front of the fire, a computer set up on the coffee table in front of him. The perimeter sensors sent data to the computer so he wouldn’t have to freeze his ass off outdoors all night. The heat signatures of small animals flitted across the different boxes onscreen. He’d been watching the feed for the past two hours, although he hadn’t been concentrating on them. His mind was preoccupied with Shepard.

He thought he’d pinpointed the exact moment Shepard had gone from amiable to aloof—the hospital. Specifically, the nurse. As soon as he’d started flirting, he knew it was a bad idea, but he’d wanted to see if he could shift his interest when there were other people around. It hadn’t worked. Whatever doubt he’d had about his nascent feelings for Shepard had vanished after the elevator almost-kiss.

He’d wanted to chase after her that day. A few months ago, he would have, but his self-imposed exile on Omega had tempered his recklessness. He’d endured her coldness, her silences, because he’d seen the doubts on her face too. He assumed she would confront them eventually. Honestly, he didn’t think she’d do it until after this ordeal was over. Predictability didn’t seem to be one of her traits, though.

A few heat signatures of small animals hurried en masse across the screen, focusing his attention on a potential danger. The animals disappeared off one camera’s sensors and then scurried across another. A wolf or bear or something probably spooked them, although nothing that big was showing up. He frowned. One of the screens wasn’t registering anything at all. It showed the shadowy outline of trees, but no animals like the others.

He put his helmet on and picked up his rifle from the table. As he walked to the door, he activated the fortification to his armour and the heat sensors on his visor. He hoped it was just a bear.

Once outside, he swivelled his head from side to side, searching for anything out of the ordinary. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and stepped off the porch. Nothing stirred on his sensors. The only sound was the crunch of his boots on the frosty ground. He pushed himself up against the side of the house before quickly checking around the side. Clear. He stepped out to check around the rest of the house.

James spun at a soft thud behind him.

Nothing.

Someone was here, his gut told him, and that someone was playing with him. If they weren’t, they would have shot him by now.

A blinding flash; a loud bang. James swore. He fell against the side of the house and slapped the side of his helmet with his palm, retracting the visor. His ears rang and stars burst across his vision. Flashbangs. He blinked rapidly, holding up the rifle and searching vainly for a target.

Cold enveloped him and his eyes widened. He couldn’t move his joints. With his systems momentarily disrupted by the flashbang, the climate controls had failed and the cryo blast seeped under his armour. He waited for a killing blow, but seconds passed and nothing came. No bullet, no blade, no sound.

The ringing in his ears was dissipating, and he began to make out the dark shapes of trees. As far as he could tell, nothing was coming for him.

Shepard.

He grunted as he focused all his strength into pulling the trigger of his rifle. If the flashbang didn’t wake her up, the continuous firing of his rifle would—if the assassin wasn’t already inside her room.

***

Shepard’s eyes snapped open as a bang sounded outside. Her barrier instinctively sprung up around her armour-clad body. She slid out of the bed and picked up her pistol and comm-unit from the bedside table. Activating her shields, she crept to the door. A creak in the hall outside her room was drowned out by a volley of gunfire. The staccato went on until, she assumed, the heatsink expired.

Silence.

Her breathing was shallow as she strained her hearing, trying to pinpoint exactly where the person outside her room was. Had they taken advantage of the noise and moved closer? Or had the gunfire spooked them?

Bullets ripped through the door. She leaped to the side. Shards of wood sliced through the air. The rounds warped her shields as the spray moved from the door across the thin, wooden wall.

She threw a pull field and ripped what was left of the door off its hinges. The attacker stood with his back to the light from the lounge. He took cover. In the light that had bled over his shoulders and side of his face, she’d seen the shiny scars of new skin-grafts. It was Aaron.

“Who sent you, Aaron?” she asked, stepping out of the room and advancing slowly, her pistol raised.

“I forgot that was my name until you said it on the Normandy.” His tone was dead. “I’ve been Lucas Hornby since I joined Alliance, and before that I was Mindoir-D11, or slave, or _krakha_.”

Her translator picked up the batarian word and she clenched her jaw— _filth_.

“I can help you,” she said, taking another step closer.

“No, you can’t,” he said, popping around the corner and firing something from his omnitool.

She turned at the electronic whir of a combat drone materialising behind her. Jagged white lightning shot out at her, crackling against her shields. She fired at the drone. Her shields soaked up damage as she backed down the hall, still shooting. The drone died with a buzz just as her shields fell. When she got to the lounge, she scanned the room. Empty, and the front door was open a crack.

Any other assassin would have tried to push their luck when she was preoccupied by the drone. What was he playing at?

“James, status?” she asked into her comm-unit.

No reply. Fear gripped her stomach in its icy fingers.

She slinked to the door, senses alert for the smallest sound or smell or detail out of place. A click sounded faintly from outside. She checked her omnitool for her shield’s status—half-recharged. She strengthened her barrier before she kicked open the door and glanced outside. A sentry turret swivelled toward her. Her eyes widened and she threw herself to the ground.

The turret’s rounds tore through the wooden beams of the wall. She crawled along the floor until she reached the hallway then sprinted back down the hall to her room. She flung a throw field in front of her, and the window in her room blasted out, leaving a ragged hole in the wall. She continued her sprint, leaping out the hole in the window and rolling when she hit the ground. She popped back up to her feet, her pistol up and ready to shoot.

“You shouldn’t have kissed the lieutenant today, ducky,” called Aaron’s voice from the darkness.

Shepard’s chest ached at the childhood nickname.

She spun to face the voice and inhaled sharply as she caught sight of James. Ice covered his body, thicker at his joints and creeping up his helmet. That would explain his silence. He must have been hit with more than one cryo blast to be frozen for so long. Judging by the glazed look on his face and his too-pink skin, his climate control had failed and he wasn’t far from hypothermia.

Aaron, shorter and slighter than James, stuck his head out from behind James.

She moved forward.  “Let me help you.”

Aaron shook his head and she stopped mid-step.

“I wish I’d gone to the lake with you that day.” In the light that spilled  from the hole in the cabin wall, Shepard saw Aaron’s sharp features lined with regret. He sighed. “We could have hid in the caves together. Maybe I would have become a scientist, like you always said.”

Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. Her pistol hand drooped. “You wanted to finish your homework but I didn’t want to wait. You were always the one who found school important.”

Aaron smiled, and Shepard was transported back fifteen years. Through the scarring, she could see her little cousin again. She didn’t care about the danger; she wanted to reach out and pull him into a bone-crushing hug.

“My master doesn’t think you’ll be able to kill me.” He flicked out his hand, and the orange glow of an omniblade materialised. “But if you don’t, I’ll kill the lieutenant.”

“No one has to die. I can save you.”

He smiled at her again, wide and genuine. “I know you will.”

He pulled his omniblade back to strike into James’s side.

Shepard pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered across James’s ice-covered waist. Aaron fell to the ground with a yell. Shepard dropped her pistol and ran toward her cousin. She fell to her knees beside him and pressed her hands again his bleeding chest wound.

“Aaron, why didn’t your shields–?”

“Deactivated them. She’s watching, and the chip in my head…” He trailed off and fumbled in one of his pockets. He pulled out a tiny chip and held it up to her with a shaking hand. “My master’s location, her comm channels–”

He coughed and flecks of blood dotted his paling face.

“Shut up. I can save you if you just rest,” she choked out, but she already knew she wouldn’t get back to Vancouver in time.

“Still a bad liar. Your eyes–”

He coughed again and blood welled up, trickling out the side of his mouth. He tapped the chip against her arm weakly, but she refused to take her hands from his wound. The blood pulsing through her fingers was waning.

“Ducky?”

She could barely hear him. She blinked the tears from her eyes and bent closer. “Yeah?”

“I’ll say hi to your parents for you.”

Shepard nodded and watched as his eyes glazed over and his eyelids drooped half-closed. The hand holding the chip fell to the ground, the chip resting in his palm. Shepard reached out to touch hesitant fingers to his cheek. Blood smeared across the new scars. With a final, bubbling breath, he died.

A clanking thump behind her tugged her out of staring at Aaron’s lifeless body.

She turned. James had collapsed and the cryo was melting away. She wrestled her emotions back into their box—she had to focus on the person who was still alive—but tendrils of loss and anger and grief still spilled over the sides.

She crawled the metre or so to James’s body. His teeth were chattering. She grabbed his chin with her bloody hand and forced him to look at her. In the faint light from the cabin, she could see his pupils dilated and gaze unfocused.

“James, you’re fading.” She pulled up his omnitool and synced it to hers. “I’m going to do a hard reboot of your systems. You’ll get a shock.”

She tapped a few commands into her omnitool. The lights on his armour flickered off and a few seconds later flared on again. James’s limbs jerked and he grunted. He was still shivering, but the data streaming from his omnitool showed some improvements in his vitals. His climate controls came back online and she allowed the armour to inject medigel into the on-setting frostbite on his extremities.

Satisfied that James’s systems were back on, she grabbed the chip from Aaron’s hand and tucked it into her armour before turning back to James. She pulled him upright and eased him over her shoulders to carry him into the cabin. She staggered under his weight but pressed on until she heard a distinct whirring.

“Goddamn turret,” she hissed to herself.

Her barrier sprung up. She eased James to the ground again. James’s shotgun was on his back and she freed it from its clip. She wrinkled her nose at the feel of its bulk in her hands. Dropping to the ground herself, she was about to crawl forward when she felt a hand around her ankle. She turned, shotgun up. James let go of her ankle and held out two black rounds.

“C-c-carnage. For t-the armour.”

She nodded and grabbed them from his hand. She’d never used the rounds before. It couldn’t be that hard.

Loading one round in place of the heatsink, she crawled around the corner of the cabin and popped up just enough to shoot over the raised patio. It took just one shot. Shepard frowned. What kind of carnage round took out a turret with just one shot?

She held up the other round to inspect it in the light. It didn’t look tampered with.  Shepard breath hitched as realisation dawned. Aaron must have set the turret with a self-destruct mechanism. He’d never intended to harm Shepard; he’d come here to die. She pulled the chip from her pocket again and inserted it into the little port on her omnitool. Information started to scroll across the omnitool’s screen.

 “Some help here, Shepard.”

She looked up from her omnitool. James stood with one hand braced against the side of the house. He wasn’t shivering anymore, but he still looked weak. She switched her omnitool back to checking the data from James’s omnitool.

“You know, that’s a violation of privacy now that I’m better,” he said, nodding his head at Shepard’s omnitool.

“Your vitals have improved. Your systems don’t pick up any lasting damage,” she said, voice distant as she closed her omnitool. She walked over to him and he draped his arm over her shoulders, leaning against her as she helped him walk.

They stepped around the steaming pieces of metal that littered the patio and through the door-less doorway. Shepard helped James to the couch. It creaked as he flopped down and stretched out along it, his dirty boots hanging off the armrest.

Shepard sat in the adjacent armchair and turned her attention back to the data Aaron had given her.

“A fire would be nice.”

“We won’t be here long.”

James grunted an unintelligible response. Shepard looked up from her omnitool and studied him. If he had any questions, he was doing a damn fine job of keeping them to himself.

“Are you fit to fight?” she asked after a long silence.

“Give me an hour and I’ll be fine.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I know where to find who’s behind everything,” she said, standing.

James shook his head. “We need to regroup. We should go back to base and talk to Anderson. Maybe we can get some backup.”

Shepard frowned. She was used to him arguing with her, but now was not a good time.

“If we wait, we lose the factor of surprise. If this were April we were avenging, would you wait?” She knew it was a low blow, but she wanted him to cave to her.

James’s mouth set into a hard line. He wasn’t asking about what Aaron meant to her, or about her use of ‘avenge’. He must have heard almost everything. She didn’t know whether to be relieved that she wouldn’t have to explain, or distressed that he knew more about her life on Mindoir than even Kaidan did.

He glared at her and she glared back at him. With a sigh, he said, “No. I’d go now.”

Shepard nodded, vindicated in her choice to push forward. She turned away to go back outside and retrieve their weapons.

“Are you going to kill them?” he asked and she paused mid-stride.

“I’m going to remind them why I’m the Butcher of Torfan.”


	15. Chapter 15

James flew the shuttle south, back to Vancouver. A red circle pulsed around the city’s old shipyards. The sight of batarians on Earth generally raised eyebrows, but at the shipyards, everyone stuck to their own business. James had picked up all kinds of packages from the shipyards in San Diego as a kid, none of which he’d been allowed to know anything about.

Shepard sat in the co-pilot’s seat next to him. He glanced at her. Her posture was rigid with barely-controlled anger. In the main compartment behind them, the body of Hornby—no, Aaron—was wrapped up in a blanket. He wanted to ask what she was going to do with the body, but another look at Shepard’s glowering face made him change his mind.

“We’ll be there in less than half an hour,” he said.

“And you’ll be good to fight?”

“Might be a pretty short fight if I’m not.”

“It’ll be a short fight anyway.”

James pressed his lips into a hard line. She’d probably go in without him if he wasn’t ready. He flexed his fingers, trying to rid them of the searing sting of blood rushing through frozen flesh. Medigel’s mild anaesthesia could only do so much to dull the pain.

Shepard pulled up her omnitool and scrolled through her information again. “There aren’t many guards, but mercs and slaves are in the mix. Incapacitate everyone and we’ll sort them out later.”

James nodded. He had a stunner mod for his shotgun in his pack—yet another thing he picked up on Omega that wasn’t Alliance standard issue. “What are we going to do with the mercs? We don’t have cuffs.”

“We’re not arresting them.”

James’s head snapped around. The skin around Shepard’s eyes was tight as she glared down at her omnitool, still scanning the data. James’s general tactic was also to go in with guns blazing and clean up the mess later, but fighting angry was a bad idea. Anger forced good soldiers to make bad decisions.

“This isn’t the Skyllian Verge ten years ago,” he said as he frowned at her. “Executing people who’ve surrendered on Earth is kind of a big no-no.”

She looked up and gave him that withering raise of her eyebrow that he’d always hated. “I’m already in custody for killing an entire colony. What’s a few more?”

James huffed and ran a hand over his hair in frustration. “Blowing up the Alpha Relay is one thing, executing unarmed people in Citadel space is another. The Council will force the Alliance to lock you up and throw away the key.”

“This is Alliance space, not Citadel space.”

James snorted. “Even I know that’s just a technicality.”

Shepard shrugged and looked back down at her omnitool. Apparently, she was done with the conversation. James wanted to land the shuttle and refuse to take her further, but then she’d probably kick him out into the snow and fly off alone.

He looked away from her, annoyed. This was not the Shepard he knew. The Shepard he knew had nightmares about the people she’d killed. She wrote threats on her food but shared it freely once she saw the crap other people were forced to eat. She hugged the slave girl and tried to hide the tears that made her eyes shine in the Vancouver morning sunlight. She was a hardass and a smartass and a badass, but she’d never been heartless.

“I thought Commander Shepard might throw her life away for something better than revenge.”

“I guess that’s why people tell you to never meet your heroes,” she said as she stood.

James wanted to retort, but Shepard had already turned and walked off into the main compartment.

That wasn’t fair. This wasn’t about Shepard being a hero. It was about not wasting her second chance at life, something which she’d been finally willing to embrace just a handful of hours ago. How the hell he was going to talk her out of killing any merc they incapacitated, let along the person who was behind everything?

Shepard didn’t come back to the co-pilot’s seat. James was still too angry to look over his shoulder to check on her. Part of him wanted to say to hell with her plans and take them straight back to base. The other part of him—the selfish part—didn’t want to lose whatever trust she’d put in him since they met.

The shipyards were a sprawl of long warehouses near the water’s edge. The squat buildings looked out of place with the surrounding skyscrapers, repurposed relics from a bygone time.

James scanned the warehouses for human and alien heat signatures before setting the shuttle down atop an apparently empty building on the opposite side of the shipyard from their target’s location. He stretched and shook his limbs, testing them for any slowness or pain that might hinder him in battle. His fingers still burned, but they had their dexterity back. He’d be dead if he couldn’t handle his weapon properly.

He powered down the shuttle and finally stood, checking over his shotgun as he walked into the main compartment. The door was already open and the smell of the sea assaulted his senses. Shepard was standing just outside the shuttle. Even when he was annoyed with her, he couldn’t help taking a second to admire how she looked in the moonlight: fierce, dangerous, beautiful, and definitely not someone who he’d want to go up against in the middle of the night.

Jumping out of the shuttle, he tapped a few buttons on his omnitool to shut the door, before following Shepard down the stairs that snaked up the side of the building. They crept through the shipyard in a winding path to their destination. They avoided the warehouses where muted light spilled out the dirty windows and ran from shadow to shadow. Sometimes James led, but mostly he watched Shepard’s six.

When they reached the warehouse with the batarian, Shepard held up her fist. James stopped and hunkered down in the shadows, scanning their surroundings. She tapped a few commands into her omnitool. He glanced at what she doing and realised she was tapping into their comm chatter. That kid had really gone all out with his intel. This might just be a cakewalk after all.

“There’re only six inside: five guards and the leader.” She tapped the side of her helmet and the HUD glowed blue across her eyes. “Too much steel and reinforced concrete. I can’t really make out where in the building anyone is.”

“Well, at least we’re not completely blind. Five isn’t bad. We could take them on even if we stormed the building.” She looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “Which we’re not going to do because we want to incapacitate, not kill. Don’t give me that look. I didn’t forget.”

Her lips twitched upward and for a split second he saw the old Shepard. She looked away, focused once again, and motioned for him to follow her. Even though he could see a row of open windows above, they avoided the outside stairs this time. Their boots would clank and the metal with creak no matter how careful they were.

Instead, they went to a side door. James switched to the thermal sensors. Through the wooden door, he could see the outline of a single person, half cut-off by another wall inside the building. Shepard hacked into the electronic lock and, with a soft snick, it opened. She went in first. James walked in after her, backwards as he scanned for any danger behind them. A buzz and a soft thump made James turn. Shepard had stunned the first guard and was dragging them into a little room. He went to the door, looking through the thermal imaging for the next target.

“Slaver,” said Shepard, and James turned.

She was crouched next to the merc, unclipping the merc’s helmet. Now that he got a better look, he could see it was batarian. Shepard pulled a knife from her boot.

“What the hell?” he whispered furiously, rushing over as silently as he could.

She looked up at him, knife in hand. “They deserve it.”

“You don’t get to be judge, jury, and executioner.”

“You going to stop me, Lieutenant?” Shepard glanced pointedly at his shotgun.

“I’m not going to pull my weapon on you.” He frowned at her, hurt that she’d think he’d actually shoot her. “He’ll be out cold for at least an hour. He’s not a threat.”

“Not a threat?” She looked at him wide-eyed, hermouth open in disbelief. “Tell that to anyone who was ever taken by slavers.”

“That’s not the point,” he said, crouching next to her and wrapping his gloved hand around the blade. “I won’t let you throw your life away for killing some lowlife nobody, Shepard.”

They crouched there, staring at each other. He wondered what was going through her mind. He couldn’t see her eyes clearly past her HUD, otherwise he’d at least know whether she was about to deck him or not. He tugged the blade and, to his surprise, she let it go.

“Don’t talk me out of killing the leader.”

He didn’t respond. He’d do what he had to when everything came to a head.


	16. Chapter 16

Shepard’s hands itched to kill the last of the five guards they’d incapacitated. Another batarian, and on his chestpiece was etched a series of lines—one for each colony he’d raided. She’d seen it on other slavers. This one had eighteen. Eighteen times he’d taken people away from their loved ones. She wanted to give her biotics a real workout on that particular slaver.

The last heat signature was up ahead, inside one of the many rooms on the upper floor. The leader seemed to be sitting at a desk, unaware that the guards were all down.

“They’re facing the door. We won’t be able to sneak up on them,” said James.

“Good,” she said, gripping her pistol tighter as she walked away from the last guard. “I’m done sneaking. I want to start shooting.”

Her translator picked up James’s cursing as she left him to take the stairs up two at a time. She didn’t bother to wait for him as she kicked open the door. Two turrets turned to face her. James barrelled into her as the rounds ripped through the open doorway. She landed with a choked sound as James’s bulk knocked the wind out of her.

She could hear rounds peppering the wall inside the room, but the concrete was too thick for it to penetrate. James rolled off her and sat up. He hissed and fell back to the ground. Shepard sat up and instantly saw the ragged hole in his side. Blood pulsed from it, darkening the underarmour.

“What the hell happened?” she asked, pulling out her emergency supply of medigel from the medipack strapped to her leg.

“You know what shields don’t like? Goddamn turret rounds,” he said through clenched teeth. He snatched the medigel off her and shooed her away. “You’ve got turrets to take care of. I’ll be fine. It’s not that bad.”

Shepard stared at him, trying to see if he was lying, and he pushed her shoulder. She sighed and picked up his shotgun. He dug in a pocket and dropped a few carnage rounds into her hand. The turrets had stopped firing. She loaded a carnage round as she stood beside the doorway, back pressed to the wall. Poking her head out, she fired the carnage shot and threw a warp field. The turrets started firing again, but she could hear one of them wasn’t firing as fast anymore.

She loaded another carnage round and primed another warp. The first turret blew up. Two more of the combination and the other turret blew up. Shepard tossed the shotgun to the ground, ignoring James’s yell for her to be careful with it, and pulled out her pistol. Her barrier glowed across her body, dark blue over the light of her shields.

As she stepped into the room, she surveyed the damage. Scorches marked the ground where the turrets had stood. Metal shards were scattered across the floor. The wooden desk she’d glimpsed had metal bits embedded into it. Half of the old fluorescent light bulbs in the ceiling had blown; the other half were either flickering or only lighting up the far corners. Behind the desk, four monitors were attached to the wall. Only one was still working, but its black-and-white image showed one of the incapacitated guards. The leader already knew they were here. That would explain the turrets.

A slide of a boot, and Shepard turned. She hurled a throw field and a batarian behind her went flying. They slammed into a wall so hard they bounced off it before falling to the floor. Shepard hauled the dazed batarian to their knees. In the flickering light, she saw it was a female, and not one of the ones they’d already knocked out. This one had no armour, just a suit.

The muzzle of Shepard's pistol pressed into the batarian’s head, right between the higher pair of eyes. The batarian looked up at her hazily. Shepard’s hand was unwavering.

“Give me a reason not to pull this trigger.”

The batarian snorted and shook her head.

“Why?” Shepard’s breathing was slow and deep as she tried to control her anger and to keep her senses alert for any sign of deception from the docile batarian. “Why did you use my cousin? Why try to kill me?”

Silence filled the space between them. The batarian tilted her head to the right, a batarian insult that even Shepard knew. Her eyes narrowed and she pressed the gun into the batarian's forehead.

“For my children and my husband on Arahtot,” spat the batarian.

Shepard’s insides clenched. The pressure of the gun against the batarian's head eased. Shepard wanted to turn and walk away, but she knew better than to turn her back on a batarian.

“I tried to warn the–”

“You did not!” The batarian bared her needle-like teeth. “Project Base, Object Rho, 157-Golgotha—I know everything. The Alliance was in our system for months. You did nothing. You destroyed my colony. There is a price on your head. The Hegemony wants war. All I want is to tear your eyes out. Your soul will never enter the afterlife.”

The batarian fell silent as Shepard wondered what to do with her. She still wanted to kill the batarian, but she knew what the batarian was feeling. She never imagined that she would feel empathy for a batarian, let alone the one who had forced the last of her family to try to assassinate her.

“Your cousin was ten when I bought him. He was smart, but never smart enough. Children will believe anything you tell them. He was too scared of the chip in his head. Too scared to run, too scared to ask for help.” The batarian smiled, a cruel twist of her lips. Shepard’s jaw clenched so tight her teeth almost broke against each other. “There are no chips for sleeper agents.”

Shepard slammed her pistol against the batarian’s cheek. The batarian collapsed to the floor, bleeding from her mouth.

“Liar.” Shepard dropped atop the batarian, her knees on either side of the batarian’s shoulders. Her biotics glowed across her body as she rammed her gun against the batarian’s temple. “All slaves have chips in their heads. I’ve saved enough to know.”

The batarian spat blood from her mouth before laughing. “It’d be stupid to have that chip in someone who’s always scanned.”

Shepard swallowed the bile in her throat. Aaron had been convinced that if Shepard didn’t kill him, the chip in his head would. If he only knew there was no chip, she might have saved him. He might have saved himself.

She couldn’t help imagining what it would have been like to watch Aaron grow up. He would have excelled at school, gone to some prestigious university, become a scientist. Maybe he’d have met a woman who deserved him; maybe they’d even now be planning their wedding. Eventually, Shepard would have become an aunt, and she could have showered her niece or nephew in presents from all over the galaxy.

“Shepard.”

James’s voice dissipated the smoke of her imaginings. Shepard’s pistol shook and she shoved it harder against the batarian, forcing her to turn her head to the side.

“If you kill her like this, it’s murder. You’re not a murderer, Shepard.” James’s boots hobbled into her vision and stopped next to the batarian’s head. They were smattered in blood from his gunshot wound.

“It’ll be worth it,” she said through clenched teeth.

“You asked why use your _krakha_ cousin,” said the batarian, looking at Shepard out of the corner of her eyes. “At first, I didn’t know who he really was. He slipped up. He told another slave while in my medbay. My slaves are loyal.”

“ _Callete_.” Shepard could barely hear James’s order to shut up over the thumping in her ears.

“You’re a soldier. I’m not. I knew I might not cut out your eyes.” The batarian’s voice dropped into a growling hiss. “So I will do worse than just kill you, Shepard—I will _destroy_ you.”

Shepard’s biotics flared brighter. The build-up of unreleased energy burned but the pain paled in comparison to what she felt inside. She didn’t want to shoot the batarian. That would be too quick. She wanted to pound her fists into the batarian’s face, rip her limbs from their sockets, paint the walls with batarian blood. She would rip the eyes from the batarian’s head and wear them as trophies.

“She’s baiting you.” Shepard wanted to look away from the smug face of the batarian, wanted to look up at James as he spoke, but she couldn’t. “You’re not destroyed, but if you kill her, you will be. You’ll get locked up. If you ever get out, the Alliance won’t take you back. Aaron will be remembered as just another assassin, if he’s remembered at all. You prove that you’re not as strong as Aaron believed–”

“He gave me this intel so I could kill her!”

“He never asked you to kill her.” How could James sound so calm? “He just gave you the intel. It was always your choice what you did with it.”

She’d dived into the sinkhole of vengeance before, but she’d found that it was no more noble than simple revenge. It’d twisted her soul, blackened her heart, haunted her dreams. Vengeance had given her nothing but more despair, and she’d since stopped anyone else from exacting that price. She’d stopped Miranda from killing Niket. Garrus from killing Sidonis. Jack from killing Aresh. Mordin from killing Maelon. Not that that had saved some of the traitors, but she liked to think that it had saved her friends.

When Shepard didn’t respond, James continued in his soothing tone, “I didn’t know your cousin, but he could have killed me a bunch of times and he didn’t. I think in the end he was still a good kid. I think he’d want you to do the right thing; want you to continue living free, like he never could.”

She would never know what Aaron wanted, but she knew what she wanted. She stood on the precipice of the yawning sinkhole, staring down into the darkness of vengeance. Would it would be worth it again? It wouldn’t bring anyone back to life. She already knew it wouldn’t make her feel better—not for very long anyway.

Shepard took a shaky breath and let her biotics dissipate. A teardrop fell onto her pistol, leaving a shiny trail as it tracked its way down the barrel. She blinked. She hadn’t realised she was crying.

The batarian bared her teeth and snarled a string of insults when Shepard stood and put her pistol away. Shepard’s fists glowed blue as she dragged the batarian up by her clothes and hurled her against the wall. Shepard was on the batarian before she could sag to the ground. She pinned her to the wall with an armoured arm to her throat.

“Don’t mistake this for mercy.” She leaned in close and, for the first time, saw true fear in the batarian’s eyes. “For every year that my cousin suffered, I’ll make sure you suffer ten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>  by [toxichedgie](http://hedgehawke.tumblr.com)  
> 


	17. Chapter 17

A few days later, James was finally released from hospital. That’s how he found himself walking off base, the midday sun warming his shoulders as he headed toward a strip of bars nearby. How Shepard had gotten security to let her past the checkpoint alone, he didn’t know. For someone who claimed to be stupid at anything that didn’t involve biotics or shooting, she got around electronics too easily.

He’d barely seen Shepard since that night in the shipyards, but every time he asked how she was feeling, she’d give him a ‘fine’ and change the topic. Maybe she was just worried about being overhead by anyone in the shared ward, but it felt more like she was shutting him out again. It’d only been a few days, though. She’d come around and talk about things. Eventually. He hoped.

He stopped as the GPS on his omnitool beeped. He looked up at the unassuming sign above a bar door and walked inside. Unlike some of the dingy bars around, Shepard had chosen one that opened out onto a garden—a little slice of greenery that wasn’t perched on top of a roof. He ordered a beer and took just the bottle, waving his hand at the chilled beer glass that was offered.

As he walked out into the garden, he spotted Shepard’s bright red hair. She was sitting with her back to him, her head bent forward and her arms resting on the table. Her dress blues were spotless once again, the gold thread in stripes on her shoulders glinting as they caught the sun.

“ _Hola, bonita. Puedo sentarme aquí?_ ” he asked as he rounded the little table.

Shepard squinted up at him and raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun. “Just because my translator is back on, doesn’t mean you always have to speak in another language.” Her smile took any bite out of her words.

“But Spanish is sexier, no?” he said, taking a swig of his beer.

Shepard chuckled. “Hate to break it to you, James, but simply asking if you can sit is not sexy in any language.”

“You’re a hard woman to please,” he said with a grin and slid into the wooden seat across from her.

Shepard winked in reply. “I guess Anderson gave you a dressing down now that you’re out of hospital?”

“Officially, I got a reprimand and a black mark on my file. Unauthorised use of force, and a bunch of other things with big words.” He shrugged and leaned against the back of the chair, giving her a cock-sure grin. “Unofficially, Anderson shook my hand. I should have gotten a Star of Terra or something for saving The Commander Shepard.”

Shepard rolled her eyes but her lips twitched up at the corners. “You got shot.”

James pretended to be offended, a frown between his eyebrows and his hand spread across the middle of his chest.

“Hey, I still walked away without help. We’d be in a whole different heap of shit if I wasn’t ther–” He coughed before he could finish his sentence and looked away. He didn’t want to be the one to bring up what’d happened in the shipyards and ruin their light-hearted joking with a confrontation.

“You’re right,” she said, subdued, and James looked back at her with his eyebrows raised. She had her eyes fixed on her half-empty glass, a finger tracing the rim. “I never thanked you for that. Killing the batarian wouldn’t have helped anyone, least of all Aaron.”

Her voice hitched as she said her cousin’s name, but she must have emptied her body of tears already. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing her cry again anyway. In the warehouse, when he’d first noticed the tracks down Shepard’s cheeks, he’d wanted to stomp on the batarian’s face.

“When we were on our way to the shipyard, I thought that I would be able to control myself if I were in your situation. But being in that room, listening to the batarian…” James shook his head as he remembered how the batarian’s growling voice had tested his self-control. “If I were you, I would have shot her the first time she mentioned Aaron, and not stop shooting until the heatsink ran out.”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” she said, finally looking up. The ferocity in her gaze told him that she wouldn’t have just tried to talk him down; she would have dragged him by his collar out of the warehouse and thrown him back into the shuttle. “Revenge doesn’t soothe pain. Only time does.”

“And beer.”

Shepard snorted. “Lots of beer.”

“To Aaron,” said James, raising his bottle.

“And to you,” said Shepard, raising her glass. “Because if you weren’t there, I’d be in the brig right now.”

James sighed melodramatically. “I guess your heroicness is rubbing off on me.”

“I have no idea how. We haven’t done any rubbing off.”

His mouth dropped open and Shepard took a sip of her drink, quirking an amused eyebrow at him over the rim of her glass.

“That’s the first dirty joke you’ve ever made,” he said, beer forgotten. “For a while, I was wondering whether you really were a marine.”

Shepard laughed as she put her drink down again. She opened her mouth, probably to say something about his suitability as a soldier, when both their omnitools beeped in tandem. James pulled up the message on his omnitool at the same time as Shepard. He scanned the single sentence three times, just to make sure he’d read it right.

_The batarian hanged herself in her cell last night. - Anderson_

James looked up from his omnitool to Shepard’s face. She looked as shocked as he felt. 

“Maybe she thought she wouldn’t survive an Earth prison,” said James, shutting his omnitool.

“No. She just wanted to be with her family again,” said Shepard, shaking her head as she picked up her drink again. “To the lost and fallen. Lest we forget.”

She took a drink and closed her eyes, slumping in her seat and sighing. James wished he could brush the away the weight of everything she carried on her shoulders. Even with what the batarian had done to her cousin, Shepard understood. Perhaps she’d contemplated dying in the hopes of seeing her family too.

He reached across the table and slid his fingers across her cheek and cupped it in the palm of his hand. She leaned into the touch and opened her eyes. It was like the first time he’d seen her vulnerable, not counting after her nightmares, and this time she didn’t try to hide anything from him. He was thunderstruck that Shepard had let him past her walls at all.

“And to the living,” he said, holding her gaze.

“And to the living.” Shepard smiled, the first happy one he’d seen on her. She rested her hand on his and turned her face to lightly kiss his palm. “Death can wait. I’m not done with you yet, Lieutenant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW! For anyone who made it all the way through, I hope you enjoyed this little field trip I forced Shepard and James to take. It's been a hell of a ride to get 30k+ words out in six weeks and make it somewhat coherent since outlines are my mortal enemy.
> 
> Again, thank you [toxichedgie](http://toxichedgie.tumblr.com) for the stunning artwork and [dismalniece](http://dismalniece.tumblr.com) for the amazing editing and feedback. You both have been amazingly patient with my fickle writing habits. Any mistakes within are mine.


End file.
